


Harry Potter and the Sacrificial Slytherin

by ACI100



Series: Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Competent Harry, Cunning Harry Potter, Fem Voldemort, Female Voldemort, Good Slytherins, Grey Harry, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Heir of Slytherin, Independent Harry, Independent Harry Potter, Intelligent Harry, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slytherin, Slytherin Cunning, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Politics, Slytherin Pride, Slytherins Being Slytherins, WBWL, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 398,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACI100/pseuds/ACI100
Summary: After a miserable ending to an otherwise magical first year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter wants nothing more than to escape the clutches of his muggle relatives once more and return to the world in which he belongs. His brother Charlus, the Boy-Who-Lived, wants nothing more than to redeem his own failures and prove to not just the wizarding world, but to himself as well that he is more than just some child celebrity.Unbeknownst to Harry and Charlus, the two of them will have to struggle with more than their own personal demons. There is a monster roaming the halls of Hogwarts, one controlled by an equally mysterious Heir of Slytherin, one who is seemingly hell-bent on destroying Hogwarts from the inside out. How will the Potter twins react to threats from this Heir of Slytherin, along with their own personal struggles, both internal and external?And what of the enigmatic Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor who seems to be far more than what meets the eye?
Series: Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664050
Comments: 366
Kudos: 833





	1. Reunions and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**June 20, 1992.  
King’s Cross Station.  
6:31 PM.** _

Charlus watched his brother leave Platform 9¾ for the Muggle World with very mixed emotions. On one hand, his brother was an absolute, undeniable git. On the other hand, if these muggles really were as bad as Harry made them out to be, then weren’t Dumbledore and his dad also gits for sending him back there?

Beside him, his best friend, Ron Weasley, was completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. Charlus suspected his other best friend, Hermione Granger, may have suspected at least part of it since she shot him a near exasperated look before wishing her two friends a pleasant summer and following in Harry’s footsteps as she too vanished through the barrier into the Muggle World.

“She really is mental, isn’t she?” Ron asked with obvious fondness.

In spite of himself, Charlus smiled. “Yup, sure is.” Then, he saw something that temporarily washed Harry from his thoughts, if only for a few seconds, as a wide smile split across his face and his deep, hazel eyes suddenly filled with warmth. Standing a bit ahead of the two Gryffindors were Ron’s mother and sister, who had already been joined by their eldest son at Hogwarts, Percy. Standing with them too though, was one of Charlus’s favourite people in the entire world. 

“Uncle Pete!” he exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap the man in a tight hug. Peter Pettigrew chuckled as he hugged his godson back before briefly tousling the boy’s hair before they split apart. 

“Looking sharp, sport!” Peter told him with a rather infectious smile. “You’ve grown since last summer; your hair is still dreadful, but we’ll take what we can get.”

Charlus scowled playfully at his godfather. Peter had always mocked both him and his father for their unruly hair, something James had always taken pride in for that exact reason. “If it pisses off Peter,” he had joked, “it’s alright in my books.”

“How was your year, sport?” Charlus hesitated for the briefest of moments, something that he knew had instantly given him away to his godfather, who’s eyes had sharpened almost at once. It was odd to see that calculating, evaluative air in his godfather’s gaze. His father had talked about it enough, for he had told him proudly that his godfather was one of the best detectives the DMLE had ever seen, and had even called Peter a deductive genius. But it was another thing altogether for Charlus to see Peter like this. 

“It was fun!” he said, and it was mostly true. “I did alright on the exams, Quidditch was a blast. I met some new friends and me and Ron got to spend a year at Hogwarts!” From his side, Ron grinned at Peter. 

“Good to see you, sir.” Ron said respectfully to Peter. Charlus rolled his eyes, knowing that the rebuke was coming. For whatever reason, Ron seemed to hold anyone in a position within the DMLE in a regard similar to how most people held Professor Dumbledore. 

Peter too rolled his eyes, though he smiled affectionately at Ron. “For Merlin’s sake, Ron! How many days have you and Charlus terrorized the manor while I was over with James? It’s just Peter, none of this sir business.” he lowered his voice to a rather loud mock whisper, “James gets called sir a lot at work. I can’t afford to have an ego as big as his.” Ron and Charlus both laughed as Percy shot Peter a mildly disapproving glance and Mrs. Weasley smiled at him fondly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come over for dinner, Peter?”

Peter waved his hand airily. “No, no, that’s perfectly alright, Molly, but thank you very much for the offer. I haven’t seen my godson in ten months and I’d really like to catch up with him; you know how it is, of course?”

Molly smiled fondly at Ron. “Oh, I certainly do.”

Charlus turned to Ginny. In his youth, the other girl had always acted rather skittish around him, blushing at the mere idea of being close to him. Over the last year or two, however, she had lost that habit and when he was over at the Burrow, he had barely even seen her. “You’re starting at Hogwarts next year, aren’t you Gin?”

She scowled at him. “Don’t call me that.” she snapped pointedly.

“Ginny,” chided Mrs. Weasley, “don’t be rude; it was only a question.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, though her mother did not see it. “Yes, Charlus, I am.” she answered with mock politeness. 

“I’d love to chat, Molly,” Peter broke in, “but knowing those delightful twins of yours the way I do, I reckon we’d be here a little longer than I think either me or Charlus want to stand around. It’s getting late, after all, and I had to switch my shifts so I could pick him up today. I’ve got to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, you understand?”

“Of course, Peter. You really must come over for dinner soon; you and James both. The DMLE have run the pair of you ragged this year. Speaking of which, where is James, exactly?”

“At work, I’m afraid. He got a tip off about that break-in near Diagon a few days ago. Couldn’t switch shifts.”

“That just proves my point!”

Peter smiled bashfully back at her. “I suppose it does. Trust me, Molly, I daresay you’ll be seeing the both of us soon. James might be thick, but even he’s not dense enough to turn down an invitation to enjoy your excellent cooking.” Then, he rested a hand on Charlus’s shoulder, making the younger boy smile when he saw the obvious affection shining in his godfather’s eyes. “Well, what do you say, sport? Should we head to the manor?”

Charlus nodded eagerly and followed Peter to the floo connections. Within minutes, the two of them stood in the front foyer of Potter Manor. A house elf took Charlus’s trunk up to his room within seconds, and the boy himself was sitting in a comfortable armchair across from his godfather before he knew it. 

“So, Charlus,” said Peter, foreshadowing the seriousness of the discussion through the use of his godson’s first name, “what was it that happened this year at Hogwarts that has you so twitchy?”

Charlus hesitated. “Has Dad not told you?”

“Can’t.” Peter answered easily. “Said he’d have liked to; said he’d have done it if he could, but he’s under an oath, best I can figure out.”

Charlus waited only a second longer. He was sure that his father would not mind if he told his Uncle Pete.

And then, the tale began.

_**Minutes later, at Greengrass Manor...** _

Daphne landed gracefully on her feet in the entrance hall of her ancestral home, having used the portkey feature tied into her heiress ring upon seeing Tracey and her parents off. As soon as she landed, Daphne allowed a fond, soft smile for the home in which she had grown up. Here was a place that demanded no masks, no facades. Here was a place where Daphne could simply be at ease — be herself.

Her reverie was shattered in that moment when Astoria entered the hall, made a controlled but urgent beeline towards Daphne, and wrapped her arms around her. Daphne laughed softly as she wrapped her arms around her younger sister. “You and Charlotte are terrible.” she teased, remembering how the youngest of the Weitts family had done the same thing at the Samhain party all those months ago.

Astoria made a face. “You can’t tell me you didn’t miss me!” she challenged.

Daphne just smiled as she ruffled her younger sister’s hair, something that prompted Astoria to bat her hand away in annoyance. “No,” Daphne admitted, wrapping an arm around her sister as she steered her towards the sitting room where she was sure her mother would be waiting just as she had been for the Yuletide break, “I can’t.”

Sure enough, her mother was waiting for her and upon her entrance, Celia Greengrass swept to her feet and took Daphne into her arms. Daphne allowed herself to relax into her mother as they took their seats on the couch, with Daphne snuggling into her mother’s side. Celia sighed in mock exasperation at her daughter’s antics. 

“And you said I was bad.” Astoria accused through her grin, eyeing her sister’s obvious state of content. In response, Daphne merely shot Astoria a glare, but judging by her younger sister’s smirk, she had failed to put the normal sort of power into that glare.

“How were your grades?” her mother asked after Daphne had told her a slightly edited account of her first year at Hogwarts. She was sure her mother knew, but Celia Greengrass was not really the type to press.

“I thought they were good.” Daphne said a bit nervously. “E’s in Astronomy and History, an E+ in Defense Against The Dark Arts, O’s in Charms and Herbology, an O- in Transfiguration and an O+ in Potions.”

Her mother nodded. “More than acceptable.” she said with approval. “I was hoping for an O in Transfiguration based on your mid year grades, but I can hardly be disappointed with an O-.”

“I was hoping for an O as well.” Daphne said with a sigh. “McGonagall is a fairly hard marker, so I can’t really be too disappointed.” 

“Did that friend of yours get an O?” Celia asked knowingly, obviously referencing Harry.

“Oh, him,” Daphne said with mock distaste and an exaggerated rolling of the eyes, “no, of course not. He got an O+.”

Astoria gasped and even her mother looked taken aback. To say that was a rarity would be a line typical for somebody with a profound talent for understatement. “That is very impressive.” Celia’s lips twitched. “Prodigious, even.”

Daphne smiled fondly. “The prat got three of them.”

“What?” Celia asked sharply. “I would wager that has never been done before.”

“It was done once before according to Harry. I never asked who, but probably Dumbledore.”

“What were his other two best grades?”

“Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts.”

“Do you know what his showcases were?”

“I know he used a cheering charm in Flitwick’s.” she said, which made her mother look even more surprised, “It’s apparently a third year spell.” she informed Astoria, who covered her own mouth in surprise. “I never asked what he did in Transfiguration and he wouldn’t tell us about Defense.” she shook her head. “Professor Hurst was an absolutely brutal marker, but a brilliant teacher! I wish I knew what he did; I can only imagine what it would have taken...”

“What happened to the Defense professor this year?” Celia asked, with the air of somebody inquiring about the weather.

Daphne hesitated. She had never had the chance to ask Harry what had happened the night he went after his brother but Blaise, Tracey and herself did have their suspicions and the timing of Hurst’s disappearance, mixed with the fact that both Snape and Sinistra were still teaching was rather suspicious. “We weren’t told.” she answered, which clearly fooled Astoria, but did not fool her mother. 

“I see.” she said cryptically. “Well, dinner should be ready soon. I know you said at Yule that you wanted to shower as soon as you got home, so I will let you do that now if you would like?”

“Please.” Daphne sighed, getting to her feet and making for the hallway.

“Daphne.” her mother called, drawing her attention. “If there is anything about your first year you would like to talk about, I would love to listen.”

And that was it. She didn’t press for information, nor did she stick her nose into her daughter’s business. Instead, she simply offered the invitation for Daphne to share more if she wanted. That was one of the many things that she liked quite a lot about her mother. In response, she merely smiled before turning on her heel and making her way up to her room.

_**Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor...** _

Tentatively, Draco knocked on the door of his father’s study. It was one of the only rooms he was not allowed to enter without an invitation and was probably the most heavily warded room in the entire manor. When he was given the metaphorical green light to enter the room, he did so, sparing a nervous glance for the family portraits, bookshelves, fireplace and desk that dominated the room. His father was standing in front of his desk and to Draco; he looked very much as if he had just stopped pacing. 

“How was your first year?” Lucius asked a bit stiffly.

Draco resisted the urge to recoil, but he managed to answer in a level voice nonetheless. “It was fun, for the most part. Except for…” he allowed his voice to trail off. His father knew perfectly well what he was talking about.

“Ah yes,” Lucius said in little more than a whisper and suddenly, Draco was reminded rather painfully of the reason that so many people within the Wizarding World feared his father. “Right to the heart of it, I see.” he took a long, deliberate pause before he looked at Draco. “You have failed the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy.” Lucius said bluntly. 

Draco reared back as if struck. “Father-“

“You have disgraced your house through your decorum and poor execution. You have acted childish and immature, and even had you not, I am certain any plan you would have devised this year would have failed due to your pathetically high degree of ineptitude-“

“Father… I… please-“

“Crucio.”

Lucius’s wand had flashed from his sleeve faster than Draco could track and before he knew it, he had collapsed in a heap, screaming his throat raw as he experienced pain beyond belief. His father had never cursed him before, and Draco would have been positively stunned by the fact had he been able to think of anything other than the pure, unadulterated agony that flowed through his veins like blood and consumed every fibre of his being. 

Finally, mercifully, the curse was lifted and a panting, shaking Draco looked up with wide, terrified eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You will not interrupt me again.” Lucius told him. He did not yell. As a matter of fact, he barely whispered the words, but every syllable was tinged with danger. “Instead, you will explain to me exactly how your pathetic plan was thwarted by a measly half blood and exactly how I came to owe James Potter fifty-thousand galleons?”

“You… you what?”

“Do not be a fool!” Lucius snarled. “The trial has yet to take place, but I have no hope of winning the case due to your incompetence!” Draco flinched back as Lucius took a long, deep breath and composed himself. “Now,” he continued, “the answers to my questions, Draco?”

Draco gulped. This was going to be a very long first night back at Malfoy Manor.

_**Minutes later, at Castillo Zabini...** _

Another thing that Blaise disliked about international Portkeys was the fact that unlike most standardized Portkeys, they required a longer travel time. The feeling of spinning through space and time at the speed of light was nauseating enough in Blaise’s esteemed and well-practiced opinion, but when one had to endure the feeling for more than twice as long as normal without reprieve, it was not a pleasant experience.

Idly, Blaise peered down at the necklace that he wore but did his best to conceal at all times. Blaise did not wear an heir ring, as House Zabini was not one that belonged to Magical Britain. This necklace was the closest thing to one he owned, though it was not emblazoned with the Zabini crest. Instead, it was marked by a simple yet symbolic triangular mark that had been as important as any crest to the Zabini family for generations. 

Blaise barely paid the house elf any mind as he stepped past it and made his way towards the same sitting room that he had met his mother in upon his arrival over Yule. When he entered, she was waiting for him this time, not reading as she had last. She spared him the briefest smile one could possibly imagine, but nothing beyond that.

_“How were your grades, mio caro?”_

_“Passable, I suspect.”_ Blaise answered in smooth Italian. _“An A in Astronomy, E’s in Herbology, History, and Transfiguration. I achieved O-‘s in Charms and Defense, but I think I’d have received an O under any other instructor in the latter.”_

_“Oh, was she an unfair professor?”_

_“No, just very demanding.”_

_“How interesting. How did our mutual interest perform?”_

Blaise nearly winced. ‘He’s my friend, Mother.’ he wanted to spit at her but he did not. Showing weakness in front of her was not an option; it had never been. 

_“He received an O+; as he did in Charms and Transfiguration.”_

_“How very interesting. He is the one then, mio caro?”_

Blaise hesitated. _“He might be; but I need more time. I’m not sure yet.”_

His mother nodded in acceptance. _“I shall speed plans along then.”_ she decided. _“You will pass him an invitation next summer when the time comes?”_

_“Of course, Mother.”_

_**An hour later, at Potter Manor...** _

Charlus finished the tale of his first year at Hogwarts with a sigh of relief. It had been painful to relive parts of it; notably Harry’s actions down in the chamber and his utter failure against Voldemort. As he sipped his tea and ate his way through the heaping plate of his favourites that the house elves had prepared, the talking only became easier and easier. When he finished, he looked at Peter imploringly. 

“Do-do you think Harry is going dark, Uncle Pete?”

Peter hesitated as an emotion Charlus could not place flashed past his eyes. “It’s possible, sport.” he admitted. 

“He is in Slytherin.” Charlus said darkly.

“Come on, sport, just because he’s in Slytherin doesn’t mean he’s going to go dark. Plenty of good chaps have come out of Slytherin.”

“But you just said-“

“Yup, but being in Slytherin didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“But Slytherin always… wait? Who’s a good chap to come out of Slytherin?”

“Your grandmother, for starters.” Peter said with a mischievous grin. “There’s that one bloke too, hmm — I’m not sure if you’ll have heard of him. Someone like — Merlin, maybe?”

“What?” Charlus exclaimed, his jaw falling open. “No way he was in Slytherin!”

“Yup,” Peter said, that same mischievous smile still on his face, “he was picked by Salazar Slytherin himself before the Sorting Hat even existed.”

Charlus gaped. “But,” he said, trying to pull his head back on task, “you still think Harry could be going dark?”

Peter sighed. “I think it’s definitely possible. What you’re telling me about him hesitating… well, that’s not good. Usually when somebody hesitates like that, in a stressful situation, they have something to hide.” he gave Charlus a rather piercing look that reminded him oddly of Professor Dumbledore. “Never hesitate if you want to look trustworthy.” he told his godson, and Charlus noted that down for future reference. It would probably be important in front of the press and the like.

Peter eyed Charlus critically. “Something else is bothering you.” he correctly deduced, causing Charlus to flush red. “Come on, sport; out with it.”

Charlus hung his head. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Voldemort-“

“Don’t say that name, Charlus.”

“Professor Dumbledore told me I should say the name.”

Peter sighed. “Of course he did. Well, if you must then.”

“Voldemort beat me so easily! I never even got a spell off! I walked in, got disarmed, got taunted and then got bound and that was the end of it!” He was becoming distraught just talking about it and Peter clearly noticed, for he set his fork down decisively and made hard eye contact with his godson.

“Charlus, listen to me. For one thing, that was incredibly brave what you did. A bit foolish, but incredibly brave and something to be proud of. For another, you are eleven! If your brother had one thing right, that was it! There is no way you could have competed against one of the most powerful sorcerers ever at the age of eleven!”

“But Harry did better than I did — way better!”

This gave Peter pause. “Did he?”

“Yes! He didn’t land a spell on her either, but he got a few off and even fought her off for a few seconds.” he hung his head. “I can’t be worse than him!”

“Maybe he just practiced more than you did, sport. It’s no worry. You’ll just have to work harder. Make up for the time.”

Then, Charlus looked up with a gleam in his eye. “The summer!” 

Peter frowned. “What about the summer?”

“I could practice in the summer! You told me how the trace works! Hey! Didn’t you tell me about tutors that one time? Do you think I could get a tutor for duelling? Maybe other stuff too, but mainly duelling?”

Peter did not answer at once, appearing to be in a state of deep thought. “I really don’t know if your father would approve.” he answered at last.

“Dad’s always wanted me to train-“

“But this is different.” Peter cut across him sternly. “This is learning to fight at the age of eleven, because you’d want to know how to fight, not duel.”

Charlus frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“A duel has rules. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never followed rules.”

Charlus paused before turning hazel puppy dog eyes on Peter. “But could YOU get me a tutor?”

Peter paused in a rather deliberate fashion. “I… may be able to. But I would never go behind James’-“

“I won’t tell!” Charlus assured him. “It could be while he was at work or something? We could do it at your place so the tutor wouldn’t have to get past the wards. Please, Uncle Pete! Pleeease?”

Peter paused. “If-if you promise… if you swear that you won’t tell James, or preferably anybody else for that matter — not on your magic, just your word, I... suppose I could see what I could do.”

_**Later that night, at No. 4 Privet Drive...** _

Harry froze at the sight of the words written upon the first page. Naturally, knowing whom Hurst had truly turned out to be, he was more than a little bit apprehensive as to what might really be going on here. 

Emily… he’d heard that name before… and then it clicked. The prodigy who had vanished from the pages of history. Likely the last Parselmouth to have attended Hogwarts before Harry himself. But, then again, Emily was not such an uncommon name. Harry cursed the Statute of Secrecy. Now that he knew how the Trace truly worked, he knew that Privet Drive would be one of those locations easy for the Ministry to pick up on. He was sure that there was no witch or wizard living anywhere near Privet Drive. This unfortunately meant that Harry could not rely on any detection spells he had picked up from the book Grace had gifted to him, nor the ones that Cassius, Hestia and Flora had taught him on Yule.

That left only Harry’s instinct to work off of, and for some inexplicable reason, his instinct was pleading for him to take the metaphorical leap of faith.

‘I’ve made so many bad decisions lately.’ he thought as with a great inhale of breath that caused him to unintentionally turn invisible, Harry put a quill to the parchment.

_Emily is a pretty common name.  
Is there a surname that you would be comfortable sharing?_

Harry waited only a minute before the reply appeared and his breath caught in his throat.

_You are clever, Mister Potter, very clever indeed.  
Seeing as I know exactly who you are and you know nothing of me, I suppose telling you that my surname is Riddle isn’t too far of an overextension on my part.  
To most, that name would mean nothing, but to yourself, if the rumours hold true, I have a feeling you might just know of it?_

Harry paused, choosing his next words very carefully. If he was going to dive head-first into a conversation with somebody who he did not know, he would do so at least by trying to verify the validity of anything his “pen pal” was saying.

_I do, as a matter of fact, know of the name Emily Riddle.  
You will understand, of course, if I ask for assurances that it is indeed Emily Riddle whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?_

The reply came less than a minute later.

_Ah, Slytherin — how I miss my old house…  
Some may call it paranoia, but I truly treasure the values that Slytherin House instills upon those who take up residence there. I could, of course, tell you that I hold the record for most O+’s achieved as a first year as well as on the O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations, but I would be very disappointed in my newfound acquaintance if you settled for that. So… hmm, what to say? What you may know? Ah! There is a corridor deep within the Hogwarts dungeons that has been found by very few. It is a more lifelike depiction of the snakes in the corridor nearest the Slytherin common room and can be accessed through either a very long, monotonous walk, or through a secret passage hidden behind…_

Harry had to internally applaud her. It gave nothing of importance away but was just the kind of tidbit that would prove her identity. He also noted that she did not give away the fact that she was a Parselmouth. Seeing as Harry had no plan of doing so either, he thought that this was perfectly fine by him. After all, he already knew that about her, even if she did not realize it.

_A suit of armour very near the bottom of the staircase leading into the dungeons.  
Well played, Emily Riddle, and it is a pleasure to meet you, at least in a sense._

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts...** _

Severus Snape did not bother to knock on the Headmaster’s door. He knew that Dumbledore would call for him to enter before he ever had the chance. Privately, the Potions Master had always thought that a rather rude habit, but he would not dare to voice his thoughts so openly. When he entered, there was already a comfortable looking chair ready and waiting across from the Headmaster, and Severus slid gracefully into the seat before a word was said between the two of them. He had met the Headmaster like this on a countless number of occasions over the years, but never had such a meeting started with such an undeniable air of tension.

“Ah, Severus,” Dumbledore said, by way of an icebreaker, “I was wondering when I might see you. Could I perhaps interest you with my newfound muggle delicacy?”

“No,” Snape said shortly, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the bright bag on Dumbledore’s desk, “you know perfectly well my thoughts on muggle sweets, Dumbledore.”

“Ah yes, I do indeed, but I do find myself hoping you will one day change such narrow minded views and embrace the true treasures of the world in which we live.” the man smiled benignly at Snape for several seconds before allowing the expression to fall from his face. “Is it safe to assume that you are here for the exact reason I suspect?”

“I would hope so.” Snape said snidely. “If not, you may very well be losing your touch.” 

The old man chuckled. “Such a thing is possible.” he admitted. “But on this occasion, I do believe I am acutely aware of why you are here.” He steepled his fingers and took on a more businesslike demeanour. “I cannot say that I have eagerly anticipated this meeting but alas, I have known that it was inevitable. I know you have questions for me, so ask away.”

“What happened down in the catacombs?” Snape asked at once. 

Dumbledore did not so much as blink at the question. “Charlus went after the agent of Lady Voldemort. He and his two acquaintances managed to evade the traps we had laid forth and Charlus alone advanced into the final room where he came face to face with Amelia Hurst.”

“It was her then as we had suspected?”

“It was, though I admit, I underestimated Voldemort on that front.” when he saw Snape’s crooked eyebrow, he elaborated. “You see, I had suspected possession. Such a thing would have allowed Voldemort a certain level of control over the body she inhabited.” he wrinkled his nose. “The truth, however, turned out to be more heinous than that. Voldemort struck a witch down in the forest of Albania according to Charlus. She told him and his brother that she used a snake to do so. At that point, she merely chose to inhabit and seize full and complete control of the body.” Dumbledore shook his head. “She also managed to fool my Priori Incantatem because she had a second wand, with which she used to kill the troll on Halloween in apparent defense of Charlus’s twin.” 

Snape’s eye twitched but he said nothing on the reasoning for it. “I must admit that I only understand possession on a mental level.” Snape admitted, referencing a similar phenomenon that could be accomplished through a ridiculously high level of Legilimency. When Dumbledore nodded, he continued. “Even in light of my lack of understanding, I would think it impossible to completely occupy another’s body for so long?”

“I am not much more familiar with the magic than you are, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore answered honestly. “I do know, however, that in theory, that should be the case. One’s soul is a precise thing and it is designed for a very specific body. From what Charlus told me, Voldemort was maintaining the solidity of the body through the consumption of unicorn blood.” 

Snape nodded slowly. “That… would likely be sufficient.” he conceded. It was a rather brilliant idea.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed hollowly, “your next inquisition, Severus?”

“It was the Gryffindor Potter who defeated her once more?”

“It was.”

“You are certain of this?”

“I am.”

“How did he do it this time?”

“The same way he did it the first time, I believe.” Dumbledore answered. “Sacrificial magic is a very powerful thing, and mixed with the enigma that is the magic centering around love as a catalyst…” he shrugged. “I believe that an essence of that protection still lives on inside of Charlus. I do not believe this protection would extend to anything beyond matters pertaining to Lady Voldemort, but I do not believe she will be able to harm him unless she finds a way of overcoming that barrier.”

“She will do so as long as she lives on.” Snape said bluntly. “She is more gifted with blood magic than any and is at the very least, equal to me in terms of her knowledge in regards to potion making.”

“I am glad to see we both view that outcome as the most likely one.” Dumbledore agreed

“She is still alive then?”

“Alive is a rather abstract term. I do not know if she is technically alive based on the fundamental constructs of nature, but she certainly is not dead.” 

Snape rolled his eyes at Dumbledore’s antics. “Surely you are one or the other?” he asked, actually mildly interested.

“In most any other case, you are indeed correct. Nature demands that you fall under one of the two categorizations for rather deep reasons that we frankly need not delve into. Suffice to say that Voldemort has found a way to one-up nature itself.” 

Grudgingly, Snape had to admit a degree of awe for such an accomplishment. 

There was a long, awkward pause in which an unasked question hung in the air. “I know that you know or suspect the majority of this already, Severus.” Dumbledore said bluntly, losing patience with Snape’s stalling. Frankly, it was late and he had much to do before leaving for his annual ICW convention next week. “We both know the question you are trying to work up the courage to ask, so please, go on and ask it.”

Snape stared at Dumbledore hard and sneered before positively spitting the question at the man in front of him. “You meant for this to happen!” It was not a question. His voice carried so much poorly masked anger that it was most obviously a statement. “This whole time, it was supposed to be about protecting Lily Potter’s son. Instead of doing as you had promised me ten years ago, you used the boy as yet another pawn in your plans.”

“And what makes you think this, Severus?”

“Please, Dumbledore. A chess set? I know it was Minerva’s puzzle but we both know when you say sit, Minerva quickly obliges.” Dumbledore frowned at the demeaning of his long time friend, but he did not cut the man off. “Weasley is well-known as a chess prodigy, so the challenge was tailor-made for him. The Devil’s Snare can be beaten by a clever first year if they know how to conjure blue bell flames.” he sneered again. “Granger made it rather obvious she knew exactly how to cast the flames and in hindsight, my puzzle was exactly the sort of thing she would be capable of solving, but I had never expected a keen muggleborn to walk into the trap. As for Potter, flying brooms? Honestly, if I’d have known the traps beforehand, I’d have done a lot more to keep Charlus Potter well away from that blasted corridor. The only true tasks were the cerberus and the troll, both of which were dealt with in advance for the terrific trio hell-bent on treacherous undertakings.” 

“You have said everything but your point, Severus. Please make it so that your thinking is out in the open.”

“You have spent the year observing Potter and his friends in an effort to manufacture a confrontation between him and the Dark Lady.”

The silence that rested within the room was more heavy and oppressive than any thus far and Snape watched clinically as Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a long, deep, breath before answering. “I admit that I may have guided things in that general direction, yes.”

“This whole time, it was supposed to be about protecting Lily Evans’s son!” Snape hissed. “Now you are telling me that you knowingly sent him after the Dark Lady?”

“Severus, consider what I have told you. I was certain that Voldemort could not harm Charlus. By ensuring a confrontation between the two of them, I was not only confirming several of my own theories, but I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, Charlus could finish her once and for all.”

“A plan worthy of a Gryffindor.” Snape spat. “So many things that could have gone terribly wrong and in your infinite wisdom, you failed to account for the other Potter, who does not seem to have this mark of love that protects him from the Dark Lady. What, Albus? Is he expendable to you?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware that he had ingratiated himself to you so drastically.”

“Answer my question!”

Dumbledore sighed again, suddenly looking every bit his age as he responded. “I had very good reasons to believe that both Potter twins would survive an encounter with Lady Voldemort. In saying so, I must admit that I had not even considered the possibility that Harry would go after his brother.” Snape was not entirely sure that he believed the Hogwarts Headmaster, but he did not dare to try and legilimize Dumbledore to be certain. Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “You have my word, Severus, that I will do nothing like this again and that I will revert to the original plan of keeping Lily Evans’s son safe.” 

Snape sneered as he swept to his feet, already gliding towards the door. “You had better, Dumbledore, because I did not agree to help a chess master who cares nothing for his pawns.”  
____________________________________________________________________

_**Late that night, at Peter Pettigrew’s Apartment...** _

Peter brushed soot off of his robes as he stepped out of the Floo and looked around his rather well-furnished apartment in London. It was by no means comparable to the manor homes that were frequented by many of the major pureblood families in Magical Britain, but between his cut from the lawsuit that he helped James fulfill nearly four years ago, and his considerable pay as a special detective for the DMLE, Peter had managed a rather luxurious apartment. 

Allowing himself a brief moment of content, Peter allowed his eyes to roam over the plush sitting room with a great deal of fondness. In this brief moment, Peter managed to allow the events of this day to slip through the cracks in his mind before, with a sigh and a degree of ruthless determination, Peter brought his mind back to the problems at hand.

He found it ironic, as he reminisced about a day months earlier when he had tried so hard to find out exactly what Dumbledore was hiding behind that locked door that now, months later, Charlus had happily spilled everything to Peter without much hesitation. True, he had been hesitant at first, but half a drop of Veritaserum had been more than enough to convince him. It had not been enough to force him to speak on the matter, but just enough to nudge him in the right direction. Peter knew that his godson would truly want to tell him; he had simply known that it would take some encouragement on his part. 

‘A shame,’ he thought, reflecting on that tragic day once more, ‘a shame that I had to wait so long… a shame that kid had to die.’

_**The Past.  
October 11, 1991.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
4:35 PM.** _

Peter had wasted no time after seeing the Potter heir to his meeting with James. Pulling the hood of his cloak up over his face, Peter quickly scampered out of the Three Broomsticks and into the first abandoned alley he could find. When he arrived, he promptly transformed into the form that had affectionately been christened Wormtail so many years earlier. 

It had been tedious to wait for the door of Honeydukes to open and difficult to weave through the feet of so many Hogwarts students without being stepped on, but Peter managed it after some cautious deliberation. Once in the cellar, he briefly took on human form once more to open the passageway before morphing back into a rat and sliding effortlessly into the tunnel, scampering down the tunnel as fast as his bobby little legs would carry him. 

It had taken some house calls to some rather unpleasant old friends of his to set this little distraction up for the night of Samhain, and Peter would be damned if he wasted such an opportunity. Just because he had no good reason to be at the castle on the night of Samhain did not mean others could not be used to get him what he needed.

When, at long last, Peter exited the passage back into the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, a sight that still filled the rat animagus with a fair bit of nostalgia, Peter simply waited. He was not overly bothered who it was that would have the misfortune of taking the fall.

It turned out that the distinctly unlucky person in question was a tall, athletic boy in Slytherin robes who strolled into the corridor about thirty minutes later. It had been so easy for Peter to quickly scamper behind him and shift to human form without the boy even noticing. From there, it had all been academic.

“IMPERIO!”

As if his world had been put on pause, the unknown Slytherin froze in mid stride and his back straightened almost comically, as he turned to look at Peter. Peter had always thought it amusing how those subjected to the Imperius Curse always wound up looking very much like muggle soldiers standing at attention. The boy’s eyes were glassy, but Peter knew that effect would cease the moment he had received his instructions. A true master with the Imperius Curse could give detailed, long-term instructions through simple thoughts. Peter, who was never Merlin with a wand by any means, could not, but he had faith enough in his abilities that his verbal communications would not fail. For something as simple as getting the Slytherin to enter the secret passage as for them to not be overheard, Peter merely had to twitch his wand in that general direction. Once the two of them were safely in the passage and well and truly out of earshot, Peter turned to the boy with a businesslike expression.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I want to know what’s in that third floor corridor. I have a distraction all lined up, all you need to do is follow my simple instructions to make sure it goes off without a hitch and then go take a peek behind that door. Are you following?”

Terence Higgs nodded mutely.

_**The Present.  
Peter Pettigrew’s Apartment.** _

Peter sighed as he shook his head. His intention had never been for Terence Higgs to die. He had planned to sneak into Hogwarts the very day after Samhain as Wormtail, get the kid to meet him at the statue and spill the beans. At that point, Peter would have simply instructed him to forget the whole scenario and they would be off on their separate ways. He didn’t feel guilty, per se. Albus Dumbledore had always worked towards his greater good, and though Peter thought it was completely backwards, the philosophy of sacrificing some pawns for one's vision was one that he had very little trouble in prescribing to.

If he had only learned the truth then — if he had only learned what was truly happening then, his plans could have been so much further along than what they were at present.

The Dark Lady’s rise seemed imminent and if Peter’s plans on that front were to succeed, he really needed to start rushing them along in a hurry. 

With a flick of his wand, Peter summoned an ornate mirror that he had not used in many years. Written on the back of the mirror were two simple, yet cryptic words:

_Mr. Bellona._

“Walpurgis.” Peter intoned, and the mirror suddenly glowed blue. Peter took a seat on the sofa and pulled towards him the nearest bit of reading material, a rather dark, rather advanced tome on Potions, and read for about twenty minutes before his call was finally answered.

“Pettigrew?”

Peter looked up with a sharp smile that may have leant itself more towards his animagus form than his human one. Staring back at him through the mirror was a soft, aristocratic face, with dark blue eyes framed by golden blonde hair. It was easy for one to get lost in the man’s slightly angelic features, even for someone of his age, but the cruel intelligence in those midnight blue eyes told it all, as did the certain sharpness one could spot if they knew what to look for.

“So good to see you, old friend.” Peter said with a fond smile. “I have a favour to call in.”

_**June 21, 1992.  
No. 4 Privet Drive.  
6:43 AM.** _

Harry was quite groggy when he awoke the next morning, and found himself in a slight state of confusion. He was rather used to his luxuriously perfect bed in the Slytherin dorms and was rather baffled as to why he was waking up as stiff as a board and sore enough to think that he might have fallen down the stairs the night previous. However, after a few blinks of his emerald eyes, he quickly remembered his circumstances with a verbal groan. Then, as he glanced up to the clock, Harry started. It was past 6:30; the Dursleys had always woken him up at 6:30 AM sharp to make them breakfast.

Confused, Harry sat up and looked around the room, only for his breath to catch in his throat due to absolute terror.

His trunk was gone, as was his owl cage! In a split second, Harry was on his feet and lunging for the door but when he pulled on the handle, the door did not so much as budge and Harry quickly knew that it was locked from the outside. Without thinking, Harry placed his hand on the handle and was halfway through simply willing the door to unlock when he froze with utter terror once more.

If he magicked his way out of his current predicament, he would find himself not only under a violation of the Statute of Secrecy, but quite possibly expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Without conscious thought, Harry reared back as if he had been struck as his breath began to quicken at a rapid rate in unison with the beating of his heart. Harry’s mind clouded completely with terror as he realized what had happened.

The Dursleys had locked him in his room! Whether they had been fearful of his retribution for all the years of abuse and neglect or whether they were simply the most spiteful people one could possibly imagine was up for debate, but either way, they had trapped Harry in this room! He tried unsuccessfully to prevent himself from hyperventilating as he quickly took stock of the situation. He fell onto his bed with a silent cry of despair when he realized that the only things the Dursleys had left him were his wand and holster, which he couldn’t use for fear of expulsion, and the simple black book from the night previous.

__**June 21, 1992.**  
The Department of Mysteries.  
8:47 PM. 

Behind one of the thirteen identical doors that led into the depths of the Department of Mysteries, Records sat behind a desk in a room that was warded in ways that would frankly make most curse-breakers cower in terror. Records, was, of course a code name. He, or she, for it was impossible to tell under the black cloak that cast the figure’s face into permanent shadow and made noticing any detail of their figure completely impossible, was simply assigned that name due to their role within the DoM. There were thirteen core branches that made up the Department of Mysteries. Among them, one was records. It was this branch’s job to keep track of all things ranging from obvious to obscure. In addition, the data collected had to be interpreted and relayed to the other twelve branches of the department. Throughout history, those interpretations had been used to predict major events taking place in the future, stop disasters, exploit the economy and far, far more. 

Today, however, Records’ job was a bit more monotonous than that. Just as they were concluding, a clearing of a throat caught their attention. When they looked up, they noticed a figure leaning leisurely against the wall. This was the only man or woman who served the department and was not mandated to wear the preposterously secretive attire that the rest of said department frequented. That was because in reality, this man had little to do with the department’s inner workings. Well, in actuality, he had everything to do with the department’s inner workings, but not directly. It was also essential for this man to be known, for he was Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables and the Department of Mysteries’ bridge to the outside world. In addition, Croaker served as the bridge between the department’s branches, often relaying information back and forth and even mediating the balance between said branches.

“What is it, Croaker?” Records asked bluntly. “I’ve been at this all day and my patience isn’t overly high.”

Croaker’s lips twitched. “Come now, Records, there’s no need to be rude. I am here for the mandatory advisement in regards to potential people of interest in the coming years.” 

Records sighed. Thankfully, Croaker had entered moments after the job had been completed. “There are two,” Records told him, “but one of them is far too young to be of any consequence at this time, if historical comparisons hold true. The other is certainly intriguing, but it is unlikely anything will come of them in the avenues we hope for.” 

Before Croaker could ask any further, Records scribbled two names down on a piece of parchment and passed it over to Croaker. When Saul Croaker read the two names written upon the piece of parchment, his brows rose up further. Still, he asked nothing. Records was not the type in the best of times, and he knew that he would receive a full report when the time was right. Still… his job could be getting a whole lot more interesting in the not-so-distant future.


	2. Morbid Thoughts

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_**June 24, 1992  
No. 4 Privet Drive  
9:38 AM** _

Three days into his forced self-isolation, Harry reflected that maybe, just maybe, he would go completely and truly mental. Luckily for him, the room contained a frankly absurd number of old books that Dudley had discarded over the years. Unfortunately, he had already read a startling number of them in three days, and was becoming starkly aware of the fact that they would not last him terribly long. Sticking with the same train of thought, Harry had absolutely no idea if the Dursleys had plans of ever letting him out of this room. He thought it was probably safe to assume that at the very least, they had absolutely no plans of doing so during the summer holidays. He wondered, not for the first time, trying to ignore the complete and utter terror that was suddenly closing around his heart as he did so, whether or not the Dursleys would let him out of the room to go back to Hogwarts.

Privately, he thought it unlikely, as it would be rather counterproductive if they wanted to avoid his wrath. With that in mind, Harry supposed his best, and perhaps his only hope, was that Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, or somebody else who cared enough to do something about it realized that he did not show up on September 1st and put two and two together. Harry thought Daphne would probably do so. After all, she knew more about his childhood than any of the others, so she certainly had the inside track in terms of mentally connecting the dots. 

Not for the first time, Harry was grateful that he allowed his owl, Nemesis, to go hunting before he went to bed that first night. If the bird was as clever as she appeared to be, she would not return to Privet Drive. Harry would survive this, even if he may very well be clinically insane by the end of it. The meager amounts of food and water that Aunt Petunia’s bony hands shoved through the installed cat flap once or twice a day were enough to survive. Granted, any progress he had made during this last year in regards to repairing his stunted malnutrition would probably be counteracted by the months he would have to spend in this prison. His owl though, Harry had no doubts the Dursleys would have simply gotten rid of her in a likely less than pleasant way. They were the living embodiment of the absolute peak of human laziness, and Harry had no doubt that they would not put up with having to care for an owl. That had been the one argument Dudley had never won as a child. His parents had always turned down the idea of pets, no matter how big a tantrum he staged or how many alligator tears he cried.

Harry wondered if his friends would get suspicious before September 1st. Even if they did, Harry didn’t really see what good it would do. Daphne knew the surnames of his relatives since he had told her after revealing the password of the Speaker’s Den, but she did not know the address. If no witch or wizard had ever been able to find this place in ten years, and Daphne had been pretty sure some had tried, he failed to see why that fact would suddenly change. Now that he thought of it, the downside of his owl leaving him was that he wouldn’t be able to send messages. Then again, seeing as there were now literal bars on his window, he didn’t think any owls would have much success reaching him anyway. 

As Harry’s eyes fell on the bars, a bubble of righteous hatred welled up within him. Hatred for his father, who had betrayed him and his own word by allowing this to happen, and hatred for Dumbledore, who thought he had the right to meddle in Harry’s life because of some titles he had been given nearly fifty years prior. Along with coming up with creative ways to spite and even avenge himself on James and Dumbledore, Harry had spent a large amount of time trying to figure out what he could have done differently. His initial thought had been simply refusing to return here, but his hands had been tied. As Lord of House Potter, James had the full legal right to dictate his living situation. If Harry disobeyed a direct order of his Head of House, James could not immediately remove him as the heir, but it would certainly strengthen his case. Harry needed that heirship. Without it, he was vulnerable to things like being disinherited. Before this summer, Harry would not have thought that a serious possibility, but now… let’s just say that he had no trust left in regards to James Potter.

Luckily for him, it was devilishly difficult to remove an heir, as it took a very strong legal case to do so. If that was true, then disinheriting an heir was next to impossible under most circumstances. The heir in question either had to be convicted for a crime worthy of at least five years in Azkaban, commit any of a very small number of specific, universal offences, or directly violate a major component of his or her’s family charter. Seeing as Harry had no plans of doing any of those things, he was protected as long as he was the heir. If somebody was disinherited… well, it was not a favourable situation to be thrust into.

For one thing, another family could not simply “adopt you”, even if they wanted to. Being disinherited was perhaps the highest dishonour in the magical world. No family wanted to be associated with that, so the chances of anyone offering you a place in their family were practically nonexistent. And even if they did, once disinherited, you could not easily be taken into a new family. There were rather spiteful laws in place to prevent that from happening. For one thing, you needed to be a close blood relative with the family who wanted to adopt you.

Another issue with being a “no-name”, was that same dishonour. It applied universally, not just in the Wizengamot. If muggleborns thought the discrimination they experienced at the hands of the pureblood elite was bad, it was playground insults in comparison to what one would experience after being disinherited. Finding a job would be next to impossible, as would be finding or keeping friends. In fact, it would be likely that to some degree, they would be a target for many of the pureblood elite. 

So in short, refusing to return to Privet Drive had not been an option. 

He supposed he could have gone with Daphne or Tracey, but James could have issued a search warrant for the Greengrass’s or Davis’s home under the pretense of a kidnapping or any other such nonsense. At that point, it would be less than beneficial to be in the crosshairs of both House Potter, as well as the Chief Warlock, who just so happened to be the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and the most powerful wizard alive. Why wizards had thought giving one man so much power was a good idea in the first place, Harry would never know. He understood that most wizards and witches were blissfully ignorant to muggle history, but seriously? The historical precedents pointing to how bad of an idea that always was were littered through wizarding history as well. 

The mere thought of Dumbledore caused Harry’s blood to boil with anger once more. Then, Harry forcefully cleared his mind of those thoughts. It would not do to dwell on thoughts like that. If anything would indeed make him go insane, that would probably be it, as much as he wanted to plan devious ways in which he could get back at the both of them. 

Sighing in boredom, Harry allowed his emerald eyes to roam over the expansive bookshelves once more, trying to scope out something that sounded even a little bit intriguing. When he found nothing, his eyes betrayed him and subconsciously drifted towards the small, black journal still resting on the small, worn desk in the corner of the room. He had not written to Emily Riddle since that first night back at Privet Drive. It wasn’t that he did not want to. As a matter of fact, Harry was positively intrigued by the enigma and had a feeling she was a metaphorical wealth of knowledge. In saying so, Harry did not trust her. Sure, he knew, or was at least as sure as he could be, that she was indeed Emily Riddle. Even knowing that, he did not see any reason why that fact should make him trust her. On the contrary, he was rather suspicious of a person who had seemingly been on track to surpass even Albus Dumbledore, but had then disappeared off the face of the earth for nearly fifty years. Internally, Harry thought the fact that she had suddenly reappeared to correspond with him ominous, but at the same time, oddly typical. Fate seemed to love interfering in his life, so what was one more small interference in the grand scheme of things?

He hesitated as his eyes rested on the book once more. If Privet Drive was so thoroughly hidden from the magical world, likely through the use of these “wards” that Dumbledore, the bastard, had mentioned, then Harry could not see how on earth Emily Riddle could hurt him. What was the worst thing that could happen if he decided to write back to the mysterious enigma?

He was not completely sure he was making the right decision as he gently scooped up the journal and spare pen that had been discarded on the floor Merlin only knew how long ago by Dudley. This time, at least, he took justification in the fact that he had at least pondered and could honestly see no obvious flaws. Of course, he was not naive enough to think that no flaws existed that he could not see, but that was another conversation altogether.

_Emily,  
Sorry for my lack of correspondence, if it has at all bothered you.  
To be frank, I don’t entirely trust a mysterious person who I know nothing about, least of all a Slytherin. If the house has taught me one thing, it is that nobody in that house is completely trustworthy, and I say that even including myself in that statement._

Harry set down the book and pen and waited. He had no idea how long it would take for Emily Riddle to reply to him. He had no idea where she was, let alone what she was doing, so how could he possibly have any understanding of her schedule? To his surprise, the book glowed a faint, bluish colour less than a minute later. With a furrowed brow, Harry read the pristine handwriting that had replaced his. He couldn’t help but note that his handwriting looked sloppy at best next to hers. That would have to be improved at some point.

_Harry,  
I completely understand your lack of trust in a mysterious stranger. Seeing as you did seem to know of me, I imagine my little disappearing act did not do me any favours in terms of trust. _

_I see no immediate way to win that sort of trust with you, but I think foundations are important in all walks of life. So, in order to establish some foundations in this relationship, how about we start with small things? Nothing personal, just some small, inane questions back and forth?_

Harry crooked a brow as he ran a hand absently through his hair in thought. As long as she did not ask anything personal, he did not see the harm in the exchange.

_That seems agreeable on my end, and it seems that you have graciously given me the chance to start._

_Well, I’ll start with a magic related question since you seemed to be, at least at one point, quite the expert. Do you know of any interesting magic that one can learn on their own without instruction or a wand?_

_Oh, and preferably magic that won’t pop up on the Ministry’s radar, either?_

Harry did not dare to get his hopes up that such an abstract question would be answered with any degree of proficiency, but a minute later, his brows rose even higher when an answer was indeed given.

_Why of course, there are branches of magic that are solely internal, and these, I feel, would be an adequate answer to your most interesting question._

_Could I recommend Occlumency, perhaps? And on that note, do you happen to know what Occlumency is, Harry?_

_I do._ he wrote back. _I’ve actually studied it quite a bit on my own time, but I’m not too far into the practice. I’ve advanced through the preliminary exercises of Occlumency and I’m now in the phase of actively clearing my mind._

A minute or so delay and then…

_Hmm… how interesting. I must confess, I am rather gifted with the practice.  
It would be my absolute pleasure to help you along the road, if you would like? I imagine, if you have progressed so far in so little a time, that you have rather sound resources, but I promise you, I know of perfectly safe means that will greatly expedite the process of improving one’s Occlumency._

Harry hesitated. The mind was not something to be trifled with and if he did not trust Emily Riddle, this would be a rather bold first step. 

Then again, he could always at least hear her out and make his own judgements.

_I admit, Emily, you have piqued my interest.  
I would love to hear of any unique exercises or techniques you might have that would speed me along in the process of learning Occlumency._

_**June 26, 1992.  
Potter Manor.  
1:30 PM.** _

At precisely 1:30 PM, the exact time that Charlus had agreed upon, the main Floo of Potter Manor flared and out of the fireplace swept Peter Pettigrew, who quickly brushed off his robes before stepping out to meet and embrace his godson. “Enjoyed the first week of summer?” Peter asked Charlus, smiling at the boy’s overeager expression, an expression that had spread across his face the very second that Peter had stepped out of the fireplace. 

“It’s been nice.” Charlus answered honestly. “I spent the day and night before yesterday at the Burrow with Ron and that was a blast.” He fixed Peter with a meaningful stare. “I’ve also been reading a ton, too. Books on Defense, mainly, but some on Charms and Transfiguration too.” A pause. “You promised you’d take me to meet my tutor today. Will they tutor me in duelling?”

Peter did not answer at once. “They will tutor you in combat, yes.” he responded, choosing his words carefully. Before Charlus could become too excited, Peter held up a hand to forestall any interruptions. “But,” he put in, “there are some very strict conditions that you’ll have to follow for this to work.” Peter winced. “I know I said I wouldn’t make you swear any oaths or sign any paperwork, but I didn’t pull any punches. I got you the best of the best, but they were… hesitant to work with such a prominent figure. In exchange, as well as the cost that I’ll be covering as an early birthday present, they want sureties that you won’t go blabbing about your lessons to anyone.” Charlus nodded. If he had to sign some paperwork, that wouldn’t be a snag. He would happily do whatever it took to improve. As long as the end result was that he would be able to one day stand against the likes of Voldemort, Charlus was willing to fill out all the paperwork in the world.

“Also,” Peter continued, feeling as if he were representing James in yet another legal case, “you will not learn their identity. This is non-negotiable, as they are not willing to be known by anybody who they teach.” Charlus frowned at that. Normally, he wouldn’t trust anybody who wouldn’t even show him their identity. With that being said, he trusted his godfather implicitly, so he would go along with Peter’s plan. After all, he had never failed him before, and Charlus had no cause to believe that this time would be any different.

“Ok,” he agreed, “so do I have to sign any paperwork, or what?” 

“You’ll take an oath.” Peter told him.

Charlus frowned. “Didn’t you say oaths can be fooled? You said they’re not even viable in court once, didn’t you?”

Peter smiled. “Good memory, sport. Yes, I did tell you that, but I was talking about oaths that center around anything open to interpretation. For example, getting somebody to swear they’ll tell the truth isn’t overly useful. Magic can’t force somebody to tell the truth. It can only make them tell you what they think to be the truth.” he shrugged. “If they have strong enough mental control, they can even make themselves believe a lie is the truth and tell you that instead.” he smiled. “The same would go for something like making a person swear to help you. If they could justify harming you was helpful to you in some way, they could still do it.” he shrugged for a second time. “The oath you’ll be swearing isn’t overly open to interpretation.”

Charlus nodded, brow furrowed. He was reasonably sure that he had just kept up with all of that, but it had been a lot of information dumped on him all at once. “So what is the oath I have to swear?”

Peter reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a slip of parchment before clearing his throat and reading aloud. “I, Charlus Ignotus Potter, do hereby swear on my life and magic to never speak of, hint at, or imply in any way, shape or form that I have received instruction in duelling, nor of the occurences within said lessons. Furthermore, I swear on the same conditions that I will never speak of, hint at, or imply in any other way the given code name of my instructor, nor anything I glean about the location of my lessons or the instructor themselves. As magic is my witness.” 

Charlus furrowed his brows once more. “What if I were to like… let it slip or something?”

Peter shook his head. “Magic works in funny ways, Charlus. Any oath sworn on your magic is tricky that way. It won’t technically stop you from revealing the secret, but you’ll feel a sort of… pull, anytime you come close to doing so. You can’t just accidentally say it while somebody’s eavesdropping, you might not know that somebody is watching you, but magic will.” he smiled sheepishly. “Don’t ask me how that works; I honestly have no idea.”

Charlus nodded, holding out his hand for the piece of parchment and swearing the oath in question. Instantly, he felt a sort of pulse within him and then, it was over. 

“Splendid!” Peter told him, quickly lighting the slip of parchment on fire with an almost lazy wave of his wand. “Now, the two of us are going to Portkey to a location that you will learn nothing about.”

Charlus frowned. “Didn’t I just swear I wouldn’t reveal it?”

“You did, but your tutor is quite… secretive.”

“Do you know who they are?”

Peter smiled a mischievous smile. “Come on, sport, I’m not that irresponsible. I’d never let my godson work with somebody who I didn’t know.” He winked before reaching into another pocket of his robes and revealing a rather fancy golden key. Charlus blinked; he had honestly never seen an actual key serve as a Portkey before and he found the thought oddly amusing, for reasons that he could not articulate. “Ready?” Peter asked and with a nod, Charlus reached out, taking a firm grip on the key before Peter spoke one last word that sent the two of them into what appeared to be the center of a blurry tornado. “Initiate.”

One very rough Portkey ride later, Charlus had managed to land in the center of a very large, very spacious, well lit room. He could honestly say he didn’t even have a guess as to what kind of building they could be in. There were no windows. Peter too had landed on his feet, and his godfather’s eyes quickly roamed around the room just as Charlus’s instincts told him that he and his godfather were not alone. Sure enough, when he let his own eyes travel around the expansive room in which they stood, he did indeed see a figure waiting for them.

“Figure” was the term Charlus used because honestly, he could not tell so much as the gender of the person standing before them. They wore a long, grey, hooded cloak that obscured the entirety of their body. The hood of the cloak cast their face into seemingly impenetrable shadows and they wore black gloves over their hands. A moment later, Charlus may or may not have found out the gender of his instructor. On the one hand, it was given freely, but on the other, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if somebody this paranoid used the opposite gender pronouns simply to further insure their anonymity. 

“Ah, Mr. Bellona.” Peter greeted the figure cheerfully, stepping up towards it and offering his hand, shaking one of the figure’s gloved ones in return. “A pleasure, as always. This is my godson, Charlus.” Peter gestured for Charlus to step forward and after a moment of hesitation, he did so. The figure seemed to appraise Charlus from under its hood, and Charlus could practically picture them analoging everything about him one could possibly observe for future consideration.

“Good afternoon, Mister Potter.” his new instructor said in a smooth voice that certainly sounded male. Again, Charlus was far from convinced that such a thing was not merely another ploy. 

“Good afternoon… uh…” he trailed off, not quite knowing how to address the person stood here before him.

The figure let out a smooth, measured chuckle. “Ah yes, I suppose formalities may be difficult in your current situation. You may address me as sir, or as your godfather has done so already. To you, I am Mister Bellona, no more, no less.”

Charlus blinked; he had definitely heard the name “Bellona” before, but for the life of him, he could not remember where. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Charlus answered, deciding to go with a male pronoun, as this person insisted on it. 

“Oh, Mister Potter, I assure you that the pleasure is all mine.” The statement was made in a completely level tone of voice, but even in spite of that, Charlus could practically picture a predatory smile spreading wickedly across Mister Bellona’s face underneath the hood.

“Well, I would love to stay and watch, but I don’t think that would be a super productive use of my time.” Peter said briskly. “I’ll come and get you in two hours, Charlus. Good luck.” 

Then, as his godfather exited the room, Charlus was left alone with his mysterious tutor for the first time. For a time, neither of them said anything and then, at last, Mister Bellona spoke. “So, Mister Potter, I am told you wish to learn how to fight?”

Charlus frowned. “Fight or duel; I don’t completely understand the difference, sir.”

“Duelling is a confined art, Mister Potter. The best duelists are often completely inept in a real world confrontation against a dangerous witch or wizard once the rules are removed from the equation.” His instructor seemed to inspect him before uttering his or her next words. “With the enemies that I am sure you have, I would strongly recommend you learn to fight.”

Charlus nodded. “Then yes, I’d like to learn to fight.”

“Do you truly?” his instructor retorted. “Do not speak the word yes in vain, Mr. Potter. If you wish to learn to fight, you have to actually want to win said fight.”

Charlus looked confused. “I don’t-“ faster than Charlus could move, a wand slid effortlessly into his instructor’s hand and before he could so much as think about drawing his own, Charlus felt a wave of agony wash over him as every single one of his muscles felt as if they would collapse in on themselves. He did not scream, but he let out a loud, painstaking grown before the spell was lifted. When he looked up, it was with a look of shock and horror.

“You will not interrupt me.” his instructor said in the same, level voice. “Now, as I was saying,” they continued as if nothing had just happened, “another difference between fighting and duelling is that in a duel, wishing to outdo your opponent is often enough. In a fight, you need to truly desire victory. You need to be willing to do anything and everything necessary in order to defeat your opponent.”

Charlus stood shakily to his feet and waited for his companion to finish before speaking. Part of him was furious and indignant, if not downright terrified that he had just been subjected to such a spell. He could quit right now, walk out, maybe even file charges if he knew who the hell this person was. But, he needed to learn, and he trusted his godfather unconditionally. Peter had told him that this person was the best. If he had to put up with their archaic teaching philosophies, so be it. Granted, it took every bit of resolve Charlus had not to explode with righteous fury, but somehow, he managed.

“But… you can’t use anything illegal, surely? Nothing is worth using dark magic for.”

Charlus could practically see his tutor’s sneer. “There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil,” they said patronizingly, “only power, and the intent with which it is wielded.”

Again, Charlus was sure he had heard that somewhere before and for some reason, the quote left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. “But that doesn’t make any sense!” Charlus argued. “Of course there is light and dark and good and evil. You can’t tell me that Voldemort-“ again, Charlus sank to his knees as he was hit with the same spell from earlier, though it was more intense this time. On this instance, when the spell was released, the figure in front of him waited for him to stand before speaking, ignoring the way that Charlus’s legs shook and the hateful glare on the young man’s face.

“You will accept the philosophy and learn what I have to teach you without complaint or you shall not learn at all.” the figure proposed sternly. “Also,” the figure noted, as if it was an afterthought, “do not speak She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s name aloud. There is a good reason the rest of the Magical World does not dare to speak it.” 

Charlus had to bite his tongue hard. He couldn’t possibly learn dark magic; he would never use it. But then again, his godfather had called this person “the best of the best”, and that was the kind of preparation it would take for him to ever even have the slimmest of chances at standing toe to toe with anyone remotely close to Voldemort’s level. He would never use the dark magic, but he supposed he could learn it if he had to, even if the fact made him sick to his stomach. After all, if nothing else, would it not prepare him for what he would one day have to inevitably face? 

Hesitantly, very hesitantly, Charlus nodded. “I... understand, Mister Bellona.” he answered in the most polite voice he could manage. “So, can we get started?”

_**July 6, 1992  
Greengrass Manor  
10:53 AM** _

Daphne watched alongside Tracey, who had spent the previous night at the manor, as Blaise Zabini stepped languidly and effortlessly out of the fireplace, efficiently dusting off his robes in the same, fluid motion. When he had finished, he looked up, meeting eyes with both Daphne and Tracey before they fell on Daphne’s mother and he swept forward gracefully, inclining his head to her as he did so, pressing his lips softly against her hand.

“Lady Greengrass,” he greeted, “it is a distinct pleasure to have been granted access to your marvellous home. Thank you very much for your most generous hospitality.”

Celia smiled at Blaise. “Oh, it is my pleasure to welcome such a well-mannered young man into our home, Mister Zabini. I hope you enjoy your time here.” With the introductions and formalities out of the way, Celia swept out of the room to do her own work and check on Astoria, who was currently brewing a potion under her mother’s tutelage. 

Blaise whistled appreciatively as his dark eyes swept the entrance hall of the manor. “Very impressive,” he conceded, inclining his head to Daphne with a rare smile, “very impressive indeed.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what it says about you, Zabini, that the most genuine compliment you’ve ever paid me centers around how much money my family has.”

Blaise actually allowed a soft laugh to ring through the room, a rarity for him, before he stepped forward and attempted to drape an arm across Daphne’s shoulders. When her eyes virtually shot sparks, he changed course, realizing that this might not be in his best interest. “Why, Daphne, a compliment is a compliment at the end of the day. You must learn to accept them graciously, as any true and noble lady would do.”

“If you’re not careful, Zabini, I’ll show you all kinds of fun things that any true and noble lady would never dare think of.” she warned and Blaise chuckled once more.

“And that, Greengrass, is precisely why I like you.” Then, he turned to Tracey. “And then there’s you,” he told her as a way of greeting, “the girl who is so bubbly that it seems impossible not to like her.” Tracey blushed right down to the roots as the three of them made their way outside, deciding on a stroll around the large lake that dominated much of the property, who’s surface was currently sparkling invitingly in the bright, welcoming sunlight that streamed down from above.

“So, how have you lovely ladies enjoyed your summer?” Blaise asked conversationally as they paused for a quick break. As he spoke, he deftly snatched a smooth, elegant stone off the ground and casually sent it skipping across the surface of the lake with well-practiced precision.

“It’s been nice, for the most part.” Daphne told him, an account mimicked much more emphatically by Tracey a few moments later. 

Blaise smiled at the two of them. “I’m glad to hear it.” he told them genuinely before a small frown adorned his features. “Did Harry not accept the invitation?”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. She would not claim to know a whole lot about the Zabini Heir, but in saying so, she knew he was entirely too observant not to have gleaned at least a bit of Harry’s living situation. She was pretty sure the only reason he had broached the topic at all was to try and get any information on that front.

“Why, Zabini, asking questions like that might make me doubt your intelligence, you know?”

Blaise dipped his head, a small, amused smirk playing on his lips. “Ah yes, I should have known word games with you would not have been so easy, Daphne.” he admitted. “Let me reword that and ask exactly what all three of us probably know what I really meant to ask. How is Harry doing, and have either of you two heard anything that I may not have?”

Tracey frowned, fidgeting uncomfortably. True to her word, Daphne had told Tracey absolutely nothing of what Harry had told her months earlier. In saying that, she knew that Tracey had put the general puzzle together months ago. If not before, she had most certainly figured it out by observing Harry’s reaction to her attempted hug upon their return from the Yule break. Daphne did not fidget uncomfortably. Instead, she allowed a long, worried sigh to escape from her. 

“Nothing!” Tracey spoke for her. “I haven’t got a single letter from him since the end of term!”

“Nor have I.” Daphne added in a voice that she had to try very, very hard to keep calm and modulated. To her relief, she managed it flawlessly, but it had not been easy.

Blaise nodded. “I had suspected as much.” he admitted, eying Daphne curiously. “Is it safe to say you know more about Harry’s… arrangements than either myself or Tracey?”

Daphne quirked a perfect brow. “What makes you think that, Zabini?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Daphne. Maybe the fact that you held onto him like a lifeline the entire way back to London? Or, maybe the fact that you’re the only person he’ll let touch him at all?”

There was a long, awkward silence succeeding Blaise’s statement, but finally, Daphne broke it with a fair bit of exasperation. “You are entirely too observant, Zabini.” she huffed. “Yes, I do, as you seem to have worked out already. Under no circumstances will I be telling anyone of what I know. Harry asked me to keep it private and that is the end of that discussion.”

Blaise put up his hands in a show of surrender. “Fair enough.” he agreed easily. “I was just wondering if your additional information could lead to a plan of action?”

Daphne blinked. “A plan of action?”

Blaise sighed. “Come on, Greengrass. If he hasn’t written a single letter from the environment he’s in; one where he’s probably dying for something to do, do you really think that’s by choice? Do you really think that there’s nothing going on?”

Daphne bit her lip. The truth was a resounding no. She had been worried sick over that exact fact for more than a week now. She also didn’t want to act hastily, but if she was being completely honest with herself, it had been one of the reasons for inviting the other two available members of their little quartet over to her family home. 

But then, Tracey spoke and for so many unsaid reasons that only the two girls knew, it were her words that did it. They were the proverbial nail in the coffin.

“I’m with Blaise on this one, Daphne.”

Daphne closed her eyes and centered herself, making sure her thoughts and consequent words would not be clouded by any emotion before she spoke at all. “I don’t want to rush.” she told the two of them. “I have an idea, but it will take some work and some explaining that I’d rather not do.” she sighed. “One week,” she told the two of them, “in one week, if things haven’t changed, I’ll act.” She glared at Blaise. “And I will act. I don’t want you doing anything reckless or… morally questionable in the meantime.”

Blaise merely quirked an eyebrow. He did not smirk or grin, but the corners of his mouth had certainly twitched suggestively. “Why, Daphne, I am insulted. Morally questionable? I will have you know that I am the absolute pinnacle of human morality, thank you very much.”

_**July 12, 1992  
Potter Manor  
8:26 PM** _

Charlus returned from the Burrow in high spirits, as was the norm for him. His father had finally had a day off and he, Charlus and Peter had gone to the Weasley home for what was a dinner as wonderfully delicious as anything and everything that Molly Weasley had ever prepared. Currently, his plan was to take a warm, soothing shower, and then to read one of the books he had ordered on duelling. 

When he entered his room, however, Charlus froze upon seeing an unfamiliar, yet unmistakable creature. “Uh… hello.” he greeted, not really sure how to react to a foreign house elf waiting for him on his bed. When he spoke, the creature's large, green, tennis ball like eyes widened, and he bounced with positive joviality as he quickly got off Charlus’s bed and looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

“Charlus Potter.” it breathed, almost as if it could not believe the fact.

Charlus blinked. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.” a pause. “I… uh, don’t mean to be rude or anything, but who are you? I mean, I know you’re a house elf, but who’s?”

The creature’s ears, which had been flapping excitedly mere moments before, suddenly dropped as Charlus finished asking his question. “I am Dobby, sir! Dobby the house elf, as you pointed out, sir.” it frowned. “Dobby is sorry, sir, but he can not be telling Charlus Potter which family he serves.” He truly did sound sorry, and in retrospect, Charlus really wasn’t surprised by that fact. The answer still did make him frown curiously though.

“Uh… ok. Again, I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here, Dobby?”

Dobby was bouncing with energy once more and it appeared to Charlus as though just saying Dobby’s name had been a sort of dream come true for the house elf. That thought gave him pause. He had met kids like that before at charity events and such, but was it possible for a house elf to be a fanboy? Or, would they be called a fan elf? He shook his head; that train of thought was just far too confusing and he could not be asked to go down that random and useless rabbit hole.

“Dobby is here to warn Charlus Potter, sir.” the elf said urgently. “Charlus Potter must not return to Hogwarts!”

Charlus’s mind blanked. “Why would I not be able to go back to Hogwarts?” he asked, confused. “The school’s not closed or anything; letters would have been sent out.”

Dobby was shaking his head. “The school is still being open, sir, but it is not safe for the great Charlus Potter to attend Hogwarts this year.”

That statement prompted a deafening silence to ring throughout the room as the young Gryffindor processed said statement. “Er… Dobby, why would it not be safe for me to go back to Hogwarts?”

“There is a plot, Charlus Potter. There is a very dangerous plot at Hogwarts this year to make most terrible things happen, sir.”

Charlus’s ears perked. If it was something like last year, he would catch it early. He would let Professor Dumbledore know and they’d put a stop to it right away. “What kind of plot, Dobby?”

Dobby frowned and closed his eyes, as if deep in thought. Then, his ears drooped once more as he shook his head slowly. “Dobby be sorry, Charlus Potter, but Dobby is not being able to say.”

Charlus frowned. “Why not, Dobby? If it’s dangerous, surely people should know?” Then, he had a second thought. “Hang on. You wouldn’t be able to tell me if your masters were the ones behind it?” Charlus frowned deeper still. “Are your masters behind it?”

Dobby hesitated, then, very slowly, he shook his head. “Not-not my masters, sir.” he answered, clearly choosing his words very carefully.

Charlus paled as yet another, far less pleasant thought crossed his mind. “Voldemort.” he breathed. 

Dobby clasped his little hands over his ears and shook his head furiously. “Speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!”

Charlus scowled. “Professor Dumbledore says the name and he told me I should too.” he countered as if that settled all of it. “Is it Voldemort, Dobby? Is she trying to get me killed again?”

Dobby hesitated once more. Then, in the same, measured way he had spoken when asked about his masters, he answered. “Not-not, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir.”

Charlus sighed in relief. “Well then, I don’t see how anybody could muck about at Hogwarts. Sorry Dobby, but I’m going. You can go now.” By this point, Charlus was divided. Either this elf was barmy, or he had been sent by one of the pureblood prats in his year in an attempt to prank him.

Dobby frowned deeply. “Dobby supposes he can’t do anything right now to change Charlus Potter’s mind.” he admitted sadly. “But Charlus Potter won’t be getting his mail back, and Dobby will see Charlus Potter again.” Then, just as Charlus realized Dobby’s pillowcase was considerably full of letters, the elf vanished with a loud crack before Charlus could do so much as move.

__**July 17, 1992**  
No. 4 Privet Drive  
7:14 PM 

Resounding silence rang through the smallest upstairs bedroom of the Dursley household on a terribly hot Saturday evening not unlike any other. The only sound that permeated the silence of Harry’s room were the sounds of cutlery from downstairs. According to Vernon, who had barged into Harry’s room less than an hour ago and threatened him to remain quieter than death upon the threat of death itself, the Dursleys were hosting very important dinner guests tonight. Harry welcomed the sounds from downstairs. At this point, more than three weeks into his isolation, Harry could honestly say he was going a bit mental.

He was bored out of his mind, having read quite literally every single book in the small bedroom and quite literally being out of things to do. As a matter of fact, if it had not been for Emily, he was sure he’d have gone completely off his rocker weeks ago. True, he could not have super stimulating conversations with her because those required a deep trust he did not yet have for her, but with that being said, their conversations had been very refreshing and her tips on Occlumency had been mind bogglingly effective. 

At the start of the summer, Harry could completely clear his mind after a minute and a half or so of intense concentration, but in that state, he could do little more than think. Now, Harry could clear his mind consistently in under twenty seconds and could even multi-task within that state. True, he had not yet tried to cast magic with a clear mind for obvious reasons but still — that progression should have taken three months or so. Instead, it had been achieved in three weeks and Emily promised that by the end of the summer, Harry would be clearing his mind in mere seconds and would be able to effortlessly multi-task while doing so.

But as boring as his life had been as a whole over the past number of weeks, that was not why Harry’s room was so quiet. No, as a matter of fact, his room had been more loud than any time this summer only seconds earlier, even though that statement really didn’t say much. No, the reason for the heavy, oppressive silence that coated the air within Harry’s room was the statement that the random house elf who apparently was named Dobby had just uttered.

“So,” Harry began cautiously, eyes narrowing. His voice was rather hoarse from neglect, but he pushed on valiantly, “you mean to tell me that there is a plot going on at Hogwarts that is going to be extremely dangerous this year?” Dobby nodded urgently. “And, I’m assuming, you can’t tell me about the plot since I’m guessing you’d have already done that if you could have?” Dobby nodded again. “Are you allowed to tell me if your masters are behind the plot?” he knew that he couldn’t, but if they weren’t, he could probably say no.

Dobby hesitated, choosing his words carefully in much the same way he had done in the presence of Charlus nearly a week earlier. Of course, that was a fact that was unknown to the forsaken Potter. “Not-not my masters, sir.”

Harry frowned deeply. Not his masters… so, that meant somebody close to them. Or the elf was lying, but Harry was sure he wasn’t. He could sniff out lies with shocking proficiency. Assuming that this was not some elaborate prank from Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn, McNair or any of the other rich purebloods who disliked Harry, and he was quite sure it was not, the only way that Dobby could know of said plot was if he had either been asked to help or overheard it being discussed. This, in and of itself, indicated his masters were close with the would-be perpetrators, but there was another, more troubling component too. 

If the perpetrators were not close to Dobby’s masters, if his masters would not have wanted the secret kept, Dobby could have revealed it freely.

“And as a result,” Harry continued without missing a beat, giving away nothing as to his inner thoughts, “you want me not to return to Hogwarts because…”

“Because Harry Potter is too valuable to lose, sir.” Dobby squeaked insistently.

Harry scowled bitterly. “I think you’re getting me mixed up with my git of a brother, Dobby. Please don’t do that in the future; it’s frankly insulting at this point.”

Dobby shook his head. “No, sir, Dobby means that for both Potters, sir. You are both great, both important, and will both play a role in what is to come.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed even more. Those words were eerily reminiscent of the ones that Firenze had spoken mere months ago. “And what is to come, Dobby?”

“Terrible things, Harry Potter, terrible things that Dobby cannot say.”

Harry sighed. “I think we both know that I’ll never agree not to go back to Hogwarts. So, Dobby, I’m curious what you’ll use as leverage to try and make me agree?”

Dobby’s ears drooped. “Dobby was hoping when Harry Potter did not get letters from his friends that he would think nobody cared about him, sir.”

Harry almost facepalmed. So this elf had been intercepting his mail. What an utter waste of time. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dobby,” Harry said dryly, not even having the energy to explode at the creature for sticking his round nose where it didn’t belong, “but no mail can exactly get to me anyway at the moment.” As he said this, he gestured vaguely to the bars on his windows. “So, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

Dobby shot Harry one last, tragic look that immediately told Harry something terrible was about to happen. “Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice, sir.” And with that, Dobby bolted for the bedroom door, which magically swung open to admit the elf exit. As Dobby began to bound down the stairs before Harry had done so much as stand, utter terror closing around his heart for so many obvious reasons, only one cognitive thought broke through the haze of depression that had been the vast majority of his mind for the better part of the last month.

‘Oh fuck!’

Harry was on his feet in an instant. Instinctively, his wand snapped into his hand but as he bolted from the room after his most unusual home invader, he knew he could not use it. Harry had already figured out exactly what Dobby was trying to do. If he used magic at Privet Drive, according to what Charlotte’s mother had said about the Trace, Harry would be completely and utterly screwed. Unless, of course, elf magic worked and showed up differently, but with Harry’s typical luck, he doubted it.

When he heard Dobby’s footsteps cause the bottom step to creak loudly just as the little devil disappeared out of sight and into the kitchen, Harry didn’t think his heart could beat any faster as all sound from the dining room paused. Then, he himself skidded into the kitchen and his heart nearly froze. 

There, hovering six or so feet off the ground was the masterpiece of a pudding that Petunia had doubtlessly spent hours working on. 

‘Oh fuck!’

With a look of genuine regret, Dobby let the pudding fall and in a moment of indecision, trying to figure out if acting or not acting would be in his best interests, Harry allowed the pudding to explode on the floor and for Dobby to vanish loudly. Harry barely noticed as all conversation froze once more in the dining room nearby. His attention was solely focused on the mess in front of him. That was, until he felt his airways constrict as large, purple hands closed painfully around his throat. Then, as he was pressed against the wall by Vernon and he spotted the murderous glint in his uncle’s eye, Harry had a thought far too morbid for any eleven, almost twelve-year-old boy, to have.

‘This would be a terrible way to die.’

Luckily for him, the biggest surprise of the night had not yet come.

With a shriek of pain, Vernon released Harry, who staggered, gasping for air. A moment later, he looked up to see Vernon round on the four figures gathered in the kitchen entrance.

Only for his uncle to freeze in shock and terror.

Of the four figures, three had their wands drawn and Harry recognized all of them. The one he recognized the most, however, was tall, slim, and had blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes and at present, a positively murderous expression as she glared at Vernon with unshed tears of fury in her eyes.

“Touch him again, and I swear to Merlin and Morgana, I will boil your wife and child over a cauldron and force you to watch!”

‘Fuck,’ Harry managed to think through his haze of absolute shock as he stared, gaping openly at Daphne Greengrass and her mother, father and sister, ‘and I thought I was having morbid thoughts.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, that was an eventful chapter. That line of Daphne’s at the end was written almost six months before I posted the first chapter, so it’s nice to have that out in the open at long last.**
> 
> **I also thought I’d go back to this chapter before posting it and add some details about inheritance laws to debunk a number of false assumptions some of you have not unreasonably made.**
> 
> **In short, you can’t just declare a new heir, and disinheriting a current heir is essentially impossible unless said heir screws up royally.**
> 
> **Oh, and since I’m sure it was your guys’ first thought, Mister Bellona did not use the Cruciatus Curse on Charlus. Instead, he used the Tormensia curse, which had appeared a couple of times in year 1.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, June 27th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	3. An Unexpected Equal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**The Past.  
July 13, 1992.  
Greengrass Manor.  
10:53 PM.** _

Daphne continued the same nervous pacing that she had been using to occupy much of her day. It had been exactly one week since her conversation with Blaise and Tracey out by the lake on her family property, and her promise to Tracey and Blaise had rang through her mind for the majority of the day. 

“One week,” she told the two of them, “in one week, if things haven’t changed, I’ll act.” 

Daphne was a lot of things, most of them centering around the traits that defined Slytherin House, but she was a woman of her word if nothing else. She would not back down from a promise she had made to her friends. Especially not one that was so dear to the heart of her second oldest friend, even if Tracey had not explicitly told her it was. She did not have to. Daphne liked to think that she knew Tracey well and she knew that if she did not act, it would be making a mockery of the sins of the past.

At that precise moment, Daphne heard the door nearest to hers close and the soft click that meant her younger sister, Astoria, had locked herself in for the night, likely to get some sleep. Daphne closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She was rather adept at controlling her emotions, but that prowess was about to be put to the test. She knew that if he could see her right now, or, more precisely, know what she was thinking and what she was about to do, Harry would be furious. Sometimes though, people really did not know what was best for them and whether Harry liked it or not, Daphne cared too much to not intervene. 

With that thought serving to reinforce the resoluteness that had fallen upon Daphne, she took controlled, measured steps towards her bedroom door and then, once outside of it, down the long, elegant hallway and staircase and eventually into the main family sitting room, where her parents, Celia and Cyrus, were laying comfortably together on the sofa, watching a movie on the muggle television.

That was an odd thing about Daphne’s family. They were not pureblood supremacists by any sense of the phrase, but they did like to uphold wizarding tradition. They celebrated Samhain and Yule in the traditional fashion when able, and though the Greengrasses would never look down upon a muggleborn witch or wizard on principle, Daphne could certainly imagine her mother or father sneering at one who blatantly disregarded all the wizarding customs. And that was before they even touched upon the topic of etiquette. Celia was a stickler of the highest level for etiquette. 

As a result of these tendencies, the Greengrass family had no qualms whatsoever about exploiting anything in the muggle world as long as it did not derail any of the customs which they cherished. In fact, the Greengrasses owned several major businesses in the muggle world and they had no hesitation whatsoever in watching muggle televisions and films.

When Daphne entered the large, immaculate sitting room, she quickly noticed that of her two parents, it was only her mother who was awake. When her daughter crept near, Celia raised her sapphire eyed stare and met the eyes that looked so very much like hers. “Daphne?” she asked in a soft, quiet voice as not to wake Cyrus. 

“Mother,” Daphne answered, and the seriousness she felt must have been acutely conveyed through her words, her countenance, or a combination of the two, for as soon as she spoke, Celia pushed herself up as much as she could without forcefully waking Daphne’s father.

“What is the matter, Daphne?”

Daphne glanced around the room. “I’m not sure this is the place, Mother.” she said, gesturing to her sleeping father.

At this, Celia shot her daughter a rather calculating stare but after gauging her daughter’s demeanour, she nodded, slowly and carefully extracting herself from Cyrus and sweeping to her feet. Daphne and Celia walked down several halls to one of the several studies within the manor. It was one of the lesser ones in terms of wards and the like, but no sound would escape from the room and Celia and Daphne were both perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.

“So,” Celia said, sounding almost exasperated, “are you going to tell me what else happened at Hogwarts now?”

Daphne had to resist the urge to widen her eyes. “What-what else happened at Hogwarts?”

Celia sighed. “I’ll take that as a no, then. Yes, Daphne, I am well aware that you are not telling me everything. You have yet to explain, for example, why the father of one of your best friends is pressing charges against some of the most notable heirs in Magical Britain, and I would assume that is only the tip of the iceberg.” Celia smiled at her daughter’s look of incredulity. “You are good at your word play, mind games, and all the rest for your age, Daphne. At the same time, you seem to forget who taught you everything you know.”

Daphne tried hard not to blush but was not entirely sure that she had succeeded. “Right.” she muttered before looking up and meeting her mother’s gaze once more, “No, Mother, it isn’t about any of that.” Celia just shook her head, seeming to be almost amused before she indicated for Daphne to continue speaking. “It’s about Harry, Mother; I’m worried about him.”

Celia frowned. “Harry? He seemed quite in control of his situation when I met him at the Weitts’ Samhain Gala.”

Daphne winced. “It’s… complicated.”

Celia crooked a perfect eyebrow. “Is it? Well then, how about you start from the beginning? I find that’s usually a pretty sound way to make sure that you get all of your points across.”

Daphne nodded, and with a fair bit of reluctance and guilt for betraying Harry’s trust, in a sense, she began to recite everything Harry had told her about the Dursleys. She told her mother of that first day in the dungeons, the tidbits he had let slip throughout the rest of the year, the bits he had purposefully told her near the end of the school year, about Dumbledore’s meddling, and finally, about Harry’s lack of response to any of his friend’s letters and the suspicions of herself, Blaise and Tracey. By the time her tale had been completed, her mother’s eyes were practically shooting sparks, and Daphne could suddenly tell exactly why people usually all recoiled from her glares.

“That old codger needs to kick it.” her mother muttered, and Daphne actually gaped at her. She was not sure if she had ever seen her mother let slip such a scandalous comment and she was suitably taken aback by the remark. “I need to talk with your father,” Celia told her daughter, ‘but I promise, Daphne, we will be getting him out soon.”

“Mother?” Daphne asked very carefully. 

“Yes, Daphne?”

“It’s only a vague idea, not really a plan, but I did have a thought.”

“Oh, please do continue.”

“Well, Harry did say his uncle owned some sort of drill company and that they were based out of Surrey. Surely that’s a start, isn’t it?”

Daphne nearly recoiled again at the near feral grin that crossed her mother’s face. “Oh, Daphne, that is so much more than a start.”

_**July 17, 1992.  
No. 4 Privet Drive.  
6:25 PM.** _

Daphne, wearing a formal but conservative muggle dress and high heeled shoes stepped languidly from the muggle limousine that her family had commandeered for tonight’s affairs. Behind her, Astoria climbed out of the vehicle with a bit less grace than her older sister. Astoria was very unaccustomed to wearing heels, and as she was in the midst of a major growth spurt, she was not exactly the most coordinated she had ever been. This was not saying a whole lot, as Daphne frequently accused her little sister of being clumsy. Taking pity on her, Daphne steadied her with a gentle hand on her back. Next, Celia and Cyrus swept from their seats with the grace of royals. Daphne’s mother was wearing a dress not unlike her own, with a stunning sapphire necklace that perfectly accentuated and brought out the tone of her eyes. Her father, on the other hand, was wearing an elegant, grey suit with a black tie and simple, black dress shoes. 

The plan was very simple. Cyrus, acting through one of their many muggle businesses, had made some inquiries and learned that the only company that matched Harry’s description in Surrey was one called Grunnings. And indeed, one of its top executives was a Mister Vernon Dursley. Cyrus had swiftly booked an appointment with the man at his family home under the guise of wishing to potentially invest in or even purchase the business. Of course, if Mister Dursley managed the coup, it would mean some serious bonuses for him. So naturally, the man accepted the meeting with all the haste and excitement of a child on Christmas morning. With that in mind, Cyrus had made sure to look every bit the personification of muggle professionalism while Daphne, Astoria and Celia seemed to simply radiate poise as they followed gracefully in their patriarch’s footsteps. 

When they reached the door, they did not need to knock. Immediately, they were greeted by three people and Daphne quickly realized that Harry’s remarks about the size of his cousin had been drastic understatements as opposed to blatant hyperboles. Daphne, who was rather tall for her age, regardless of gender, was technically taller than him at the moment, but only because of her heeled shoes. His height was not the thing that took her aback, however. The sheer girth of the boy was impossible to miss and he was not exactly chiseled in an athletic sort of way, either. Daphne supposed that if one could somehow get around that, his blue eyes, blonde hair and oddly charming smile could be endearing enough. However, from what she suspected about the boy, she had to try very hard indeed not to glare at him with all the force she could muster. The man was a massive version of his son and the woman was tall, about the same height as Celia, but extremely thin and bony. She was a stark juxtaposition to Celia, who positively radiated beauty, as the two women briefly shook hands.

Then, Daphne’s attention was caught when Astoria subtly kicked her in the shin and jerked her head back in the direction of their son. He was gaping, actually gaping at Daphne as though he had never seen such a sight before. Daphne could tell Astoria was trying very hard not to giggle, and Daphne had to resist the urge to borrow Draco Malfoy’s trademarked sneer. Daphne was a realistic person. She knew she was pretty and would one day be beautiful if her mother’s appearance was any indicator, but seriously? She wasn’t a veela and she didn’t think her appearance warranted that drastic of a reaction.

When the youngest Dursley had picked his mouth up off of the floor, the Greengrasses were led inside and quickly seated at the table. Daphne would reluctantly admit that the food prepared for them was quite good. That, however, did nothing to distract her from the bubbling fury that welled in the pit of her stomach when Vernon Dursley proudly proclaimed Dudley to be his only son, making it blatantly obvious in the process that no other boy inhabited the house in which they stood. At that moment in time, it took a frankly remarkable amount of self-control on Daphne’s part to not remove her wand from her robes, curse the oversized walrus into oblivion, and then quickly find Harry. She did hold back though, for most unfortunately, that was not the plan.

The plan was to go about business as normal for dinner and then for her mother and father to drag the Dursleys into conversation while Daphne slipped off to use the loo. In reality, she would be doing nothing of the sort. Instead, she would be finding Harry, and then they would be leaving this Merlin forsaken place with her friend in tow. That plan, however, did not quite see its conclusion as a loud creak from the stairs caught all of their attention. 

Daphne’s heart rate quickened; she had a feeling she knew who had created that creak. Then, just as conversation resumed a bit tensely a minute or so later, there was a deafening sound of breaking glass from the kitchen and Vernon Dursley was on his feet. Gone was the charming smile he had done his best to frequent for the duration of their meeting. In its place was an ugly, twisted look of fury, a look that was only accentuated by the vivid purple his face had turned. As he stormed off after the sound, Daphne instinctively got to her feet and followed him, a feeling of impending dread rising within her.

Either her mother, father and sister had the same thought or they simply followed her, but before they knew it, all three of them were entering the kitchen, and Daphne had to try hard not to scream when she saw her friend being pinned up against the wall by his throat. Instantly, she went for her wand, but her father was faster. 

“Relashio!” 

Vernon Dursley cried out in pain before releasing Harry, who quickly doubled over and clutched at his throat. Vernon turned, likely to yell at whomever had interrupted his cruelty, but he froze at the sight of Cyrus, Celia and Daphne’s drawn wands. The next words out of Daphne’s mouth, which she was rather proud for coming up with on the spot, as a matter of fact, reduced the colouration of his skin from a vivid purple to a chalky, pale complexion.

“Touch him again and I swear to Merlin and Morgana I will boil your wife and child over a cauldron and force you to watch!”

As Harry watched Vernon Dursley visibly recoil from the words of his best friend, he quietly took note to never piss off Daphne Greengrass if he could avoid it. Even with literal tears of fury in her eyes, the glare he had spotted before doubling over to catch his breath had been positively withering. Even that did not account for the absolute venom in her words, something that took Harry and Vernon both aback. Harry heard a loud thump as he looked up, finally having caught his breath, to see Vernon lying unconscious on the floor. He imagined that one of Daphne’s parents had likely stunned him, since she did not know of that spell as far as Harry was aware. Daphne immediately beeline for Harry, but as she did so, she managed to kick Vernon very forcefully in a not so pleasant area, causing Harry to wince once more.

‘Reminder — never piss off Daphne Greengrass.’

Normally, Daphne was rather mindful of Harry’s dislike of being touched. Now, however, she seemed to abandon all tact as she plowed into him with the force of an eighteen wheeler and promptly began to squeeze the life out of him. She did not cry, but Harry suspected it was a close call. For the first few moments, he was rather tense in her embrace. Then, very slowly and more than a bit hesitantly, he relaxed and actually wrapped his arms around her in return. It was odd seeing Daphne so out of her element — so uncomposed.

“Harry,” she murmured as her parents and sister stood back a bit awkwardly, “are you okay?”

“Fine.” he told her. Truthfully, he was not entirely sure about how he felt about Daphne seeing this place, nor him at his absolute weakest, his most vulnerable. That thought would need more analyzing later with the use of Occlumency, but for now, he needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

Gently, Harry managed to extricate himself from Daphne for all of three seconds before she took a vice-like grip on his arm when looping her own through his. Petunia and Dudley were also unconscious now, as Harry rather awkwardly made his way towards the Greengrasses with their eldest daughter on his arm. “Uh… good evening, Lord and Lady Greengrass, Miss Greengrass.” Harry greeted, not really knowing what to do in the current situation.

“Are you alright?” was the first question Daphne’s mother asked Harry and it was a question that took him a bit aback. He had not been asked that question very often in his nearly twelve years of life, and he honestly had to mull it over. 

“I’m better now, I guess.” he answered carefully, looking speculatively between Daphne, her mother, her father and the fallen Dursleys. “Er… I’m grateful, especially for your timing, but… what exactly are you doing here?”

“Getting you away from this place!” Daphne said forcefully, and even if Harry had suffered at all from Stockholm Syndrome, he would not have dared argue with her. There was a part of him that was utterly terrified. Cyrus and Celia had just used magic, which would mean the triggering of the Trace. For now, he managed to forestall those thoughts by justifying that their eyewitness accounts would be more than enough to excuse him, but the irrational fear did still fight to be felt. Nothing scared him more than not having magic, not having a way of gaining control.

“Where are all of your things?” Lord Greengrass asked Harry.

“Most of them are locked up in the cupboard under the stairs.” he told the man, trying to keep a neutral tone of voice. He could not believe this; he was getting away from the Dursleys. But, he did not forget the veiled threat levelled at him by Dumbledore in his office near the end of his first year at Hogwarts. 

Dumbledore was almost to the door when he paused and turned. “And Harry, please do not try and flee the property this summer. I will know if you leave.” 

Harry turned to Daphne before her parents could react to his proclamation. “You did tell them what Dumbledore told me at the end of the year, right?”

“You mean how he blatantly threatened an eleven-year-old?” Daphne bit back. “Yes, Harry, I did and we’ve got it under control. Now, shut up and go along with it.”

Lord Greengrass let out a loud, vocal laugh as Lady Greengrass smiled and Daphne’s younger sister seemed to try very hard not to giggle.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he could not help but grin back at Daphne. “Of course, your highness.” he responded, prompting Daphne to swat at him playfully, finally seeming to gain a measure of control under the torrent of emotions crashing against her psyche like an incoming tidal wave. 

“Prat.”

Harry smiled at her. “I’ve missed you too, Daphne.”

_**Three hours later, at Greengrass Manor...** _

It was a rather long drive to get from Surrey to wherever Greengrass Manor was located. In spite of this, Harry rather enjoyed the drive. The limousine was something he had never experienced before. The fully stocked fridge was quite nice after nothing but scraps and water over the past number of weeks. On their way to the manor, they even stopped at a muggle restaurant for Harry to get some food, something that he was rather grateful for. As a whole, the drive was spent mostly in polite silence, with the odd attempt at small talk lasting for a few minutes. 

Finally, the limo pulled through a rather splendid set of gates. Harry thought for sure they had reached the manor proper, but as Daphne told him with an odd smile, they had only crossed the property line. The property, it turned out, was more than vast and seemed to stretch on for ages. They drove down a well kept path that led straight through the rather beautiful forestry and when they finally exited the forests, Harry could have gasped at the sight that greeted them.

They seemed to be atop a marvellous green hill that overlooked a massive valley. In said valley, it appeared, was a brilliant blue lake, acres of land in every direction, and the most magnificent estate that Harry had ever seen. 

Some time later, Harry walked into the guest room, which was about the same size as the room he had kept at Weitts Manor. This one overlooked the sparkling lake as opposed to the lush, green lawns. Upon entering, Harry slumped down on the bed and pressed his hands into his temples, forcefully clearing his mind and trying to get a handle on the myriad of thoughts that had been attacking him ever since Daphne’s arrival at Privet Drive. Frankly, everything that had just happened seemed like an impossibility, and Harry’s mind was going about a million miles an hour in about a million different directions and honestly, it was giving him quite the headache.

“Are you okay?” Daphne asked, gently sitting on the bed beside where he was laying, peering down at him with a look of mild concern.

“I’m fine,” Harry told her, “just… a bit overwhelmed, I guess would be the best way of putting it.”

A long, pleasant silence stretched between them before Daphne broke it with what Harry considered to be a rather bold question. “Harry… did they — did they hurt you, at all?”

Harry sighed deeply, maintaining a clear mind as he pondered whether or not to answer her question. In the end, he didn’t see any reason not to, even though he really wished he could have found one. Daphne had seen Vernon assault him, she had seen the state of his living arrangements and now more than ever, she had quite the accurate understanding of his upbringing, especially after seeing the bars on his bedroom window. He had been sure when she had seen said bars that she would kill the Dursleys, but Cyrus was very strict about it. They would be leaving the Dursleys untouched after he memory charmed the three of them. If Harry was going to randomly disappear, it would not do for the Dursley family to do so at the same time. Dumbledore would already suspect them, and by extension, Harry. They did not need any true crimes attached to his suspicions.

“That was the first time this summer he actually touched me.” Harry answered in a rather hollow voice. “I woke up the morning after arriving and was locked in my room with nothing but my wand.” He neglected to mention the journal he had been sure to retrieve before leaving. For some reason, he wasn’t sure Daphne would approve of his mysterious relationship with the enigmatic Emily Riddle. “I didn’t want to use my wand because it would trigger the Trace.” then, he paused. “Hang on, I never got a letter from the Ministry. How does that work? Your parents used stunners and the memory charm?”

Daphne frowned. “I honestly have no idea.” she answered honestly. “We were ready to appeal directly to the Minister if need be; we would have gotten the charge removed from your record, anyways. But now that you mention it… yeah, that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he mused thoughtfully, “it really doesn’t.” After a long pause, he decided to come out with it. “Thanks, Daphne for… you know?”

She nodded. “Anytime, Harry. I knew it was bad — I knew it was worse than you were letting on, even.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it.” he told her honestly and with no emotion. “I… honestly don’t like the thought that you’ve seen me there.”

Daphne levelled him with the most pensive and calculating look he had ever seen on her face. It was positively odd seeing it on the face of a twelve-year-old girl. “Anytime that changes, let me know, will you?” she paused. “I have a feeling someone else may want to talk to you about it tomorrow.”

“I’m grateful for your parents, Daphne, but I’m not-“

“Not my parents, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “Who then?”

Daphne gave him a long, studying look. “Blaise and Tracey are coming over before you leave.” she answered cryptically.

Harry tensed. “Leave?”

“I did tell you that we planned this, right? And that I told my parents about Dumbledore threatening you?”

Harry relaxed at once. “Oh, yeah… sorry.”

“You didn’t think we’d send you back to that hellhole after tonight?”

Harry’s eyes darkened and for a second, Daphne thought she may have touched on something too personal. “It’s… not in my nature to accept things going as well as they just did.” Harry answered after a time. “There’s a part of me that still expects to wake up there.”

Daphne hesitated before reaching over and giving Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re never going back, Harry. I promise.”

Harry had to forcefully discard the memory of James Potter saying something very similar months earlier. Once he managed that, there was another long, comfortable silence between the two friends before Harry broke it. “What’s the plan then, Daphne? Where is it that I’m going?”

“Weitts Manor.” she answered to Harry’s surprise. “We can still spend tons of time together; the same goes for Tracey and Blaise, but it gets you away from us and somewhere Dumbledore can’t touch you.”

Harry quirked a brow. “How can’t he touch me while I’m there?”

“Well, for one thing, let’s just say he wouldn’t suspect the Weitts family of taking you in. And for another,” she paused, “let’s just say Dumbledore leaves them well enough alone.” That was an extremely interesting tidbit and unbidden, the memory of Lady Weitts speaking about Dumbledore from last November flowed easily to the forefront of his mind.

Something… odd flashed in Lady Weitts’s eyes, but a split second later, it was gone, and Harry was not even sure he had seen it at all. “No wizard alive has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore.” she said a bit darkly. It sounded quite significant somehow.

“That’s… nice of them.” Harry answered honestly, rather surprised the Weitts would go out of their way to take him in. Perhaps they were closer with the Greengrasses than he had even realized. Or, perhaps Charlotte had been right all those months ago when she told him that her mother liked him.

Daphne shrugged as she stood from her seat on the bed. “Well, I know you well enough by now to know when you need time to think.” she fixed him with a stare. “Just… if you need me, come and find me, ok? And tomorrow… give her a chance, please.” Harry had no idea what those final cryptic words meant, and as Daphne exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her, he was not given the opportunity to find out.

_**July 18, 1992.  
Greengrass Manor.  
9:37 AM.** _

When Tracey arrived the next morning, Harry had the strong impression that she wanted to do nothing more than fling herself at him in much the same way Daphne had done last night at Privet Drive. To Harry’s mild relief, she restrained herself and minutes later, when Blaise effortlessly and elegantly stepped from the flames, he did not look as if the thought had ever crossed his mind.

“A pleasure to reacquaint, my friend.” Blaise told Harry with a small smirk, holding out his hand as if meeting for the first time. 

Harry took it with a roll of his eyes, but he played along anyways. “Indeed it is. I trust you are well, after all these years apart?”

“Oh, Harry, positively splendid, my dear man.” Daphne was looking exasperated and Tracey was visibly trying not to laugh as Harry and Blaise finished their exchange and the four friends made their way out onto the expansive grounds of Greengrass Manor. They did not do much, simply walked and talked for what felt like hours before finally, the four of them made to take seats near the lake. 

“I should go and get my bag.” Daphne said with a sigh, glaring at Harry. “I may as well make a start on some of that homework while Merlin over here is present to help me with it.” 

As Daphne stood, Blaise stood to join her in a single, fluid motion. When Daphne crooked an eyebrow, Blaise merely shrugged. “It would be most rude of me to leave a lady like you alone for such a long walk, Miss Greengrass. Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you back towards your lovely home?”

Daphne sighed. “If you must.” she told him, looping her arm through his as the two of them made their way towards the manor.

Harry waited about two minutes before he broke the silence. “I’ll admit, Tracey, that I didn’t expect it to be you who wanted to talk to me.”

Tracey’s eyes widened. “How did you-“

Harry rolled his own eyes in return. “Come on, Tracey. That little performance was well done, don’t get me wrong. Daphne and Blaise could probably be actors, but there were two gaping holes in your plan.” he raised a finger. “One, Daphne could have just called a house elf.” Tracey blushed at this, looking a bit put off. “Two,” he continued, raising a second finger as he spoke, “Daphne said that somebody would want to talk to me last night and hinted it was either you or Blaise.” he looked pointedly at Tracey. “Seeing as her last words before leaving my room last night were ‘give her a chance, please’, I thought it was safe to assume it was you.”

Tracey looked positively astonished but she regained her composure in an impressively short amount of time. “You… figured all of that out that quickly?” Harry nodded. Tracey just shook her head. “You blow my mind sometimes, you know that?”

Harry laughed softly as the warm summer’s breeze rustled his hair. “I try, Tracey, I try.” a pause. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Both of them knew the answer to that question and likewise, both of them knew full well that the other one was aware as well. But Harry had to kickstart this conversation somehow, even if he was unsure if he would let it go anywhere at all.

Tracey shifted to face him, sea green eyes finding emerald. “I know you won’t want to talk about your relatives with me,” she started, not even pausing when Harry’s expression instantly became more closed off, “and you don’t have to, at least not today, but I think you might want to eventually.”

Harry blinked. “You… what?”

Tracey peered curiously at Harry. “Can you promise me, Harry, not to tell anybody about what you hear in the next however many minutes this takes?” Harry frowned but nodded. Tracey sighed. “I understand you, Harry. I understand you more than anybody else does; even Daphne, as much as she wants to try.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “That is a… very bold statement, Tracey. I don’t think-“

“Don’t think I do? Don’t see why anything I say is relevant to you or why you would ever want to share it with the fourth, tagalong member of the group?” Harry winced at her bluntness. “It’s ok, Harry.” she reassured. “I’m not as smart as Daphne or Blaise when it comes to politics and magic and all of the rest. You don’t have to apologize for the fact that you talk to them more than you talk to me. What I am better at than both of them is feelings, and in your case, I understand you better than either of them do. I also know that right now, you have no interest at all in talking about your home life.” She paused. “But, I also know better than anybody that it gets a lot easier once you start talking about it.”

Harry’s eyes widened as the dots came together. He would have never, not in a million years suspected that Tracey… “Tracey, you don’t have to tell me-“

“Shh,” she told him, lifting a hand for silence, “I want to tell you, Harry, because it will prove my point about it getting easier and because I want you to understand why I’d like for you to talk to me. It doesn’t have to be today but please, can you just hear me out and promise not to interrupt or go blabbing?” she mock glared at him. “And don’t call me a hypocrite because I can’t keep a secret!”

Harry managed a very weak, very small smile in spite of himself. “Alright, Tracey, if you insist.” and with those words, Tracey took a deep, readying breath before diving into a story Harry could have never, not in his wildest dreams, have expected.

_**The Past.  
June 23, 1978.  
A Nightclub in London.  
11:32 PM.** _

Eighteen-year-old Julie Davis reveled in the music as she twirled in a most satisfying way on the dance floor, joining in the chorus of laughter that was shared by Annabel and some of her other close friends. Just hours earlier, they had arrived back in London after completing their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Julie would miss the view from her dormitory situated high up in Ravenclaw Tower, but she was excited to move onto the next chapter of her life. For now though, she and her friends had decided to pitch some money together and put in for a hotel in London so they could spend the night celebrating the turning of a page in their lives.

When the current song ended, Julie left her friends to go get another drink. She was not an alcoholic by any means. As a matter of fact, this was only the third time in her life she had indulged at all, but tonight, she was throwing all restraint to the wayside. After getting yet another glass, Julie tried to weave her way back to her friends through the crowd of strangers in the nightclub. As she made to slip past a dancing couple, a tall, well built man came hurrying through the crowd and though Julie’s eyes had time to widen in unison with the stranger’s, neither of them could do anything as they slammed into one another and Julie’s drink promptly fell from her hands, the glass shattering on the floor.

“Fuck!” the man cursed, steadying the smaller girl easily enough. “Shit, my bad, I wasn’t paying attention. Fuck, I’m an idiot; can I buy you another drink?”

Julie, who was still a bit flustered, took a small step back and looked at the man more closely. He was quite tall and well muscled as she had first observed, and he had short cropped blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was handsome, but in a roguish sort of way. “Um… sure, if you’d like. You don’t have to though; I wasn’t watching where I was going either, so-“

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” the man said, offering her a smile as he waved for her to follow him back up to the bar. “Not much you could’ve done if you ran into me, but I need to watch out for pretty little things like you.” Julie blushed as the man shot her a sort of conspiratorial wink before purchasing her a drink, and one for himself too.

“Thank you.” she said graciously, smiling happily up at him. She had always been quite an upbeat person. Many men and women would’ve been upset with this man, even after he had taken the time to buy them a drink in compensation for his carelessness. Julie, however, was just grateful he had been so generous. “It really wasn’t necessary.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” he said again, waving a hand airily. “I’d have bought you a drink even without running into you.” he winked again and Julie found herself blushing from more than just the alcohol. “What’s your name by the way, cutie?”

Still blushing down to the roots, Julie extended the hand that was not occupied with her drink. “Julie Davis.” she told him. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The man took her hand in his slightly more calloused one and shook. “Davis… Davis,” he muttered before shrugging, “can’t say I recognize the name, but I’ll be sure to recognize you, Julie. The name’s Norwich — Josh Norwich.” he smiled at her before looking out over the crowd. Julie wasn’t really surprised he hadn’t heard of her family. Her parents were both muggles, but they lived quite far from London. “Were you looking for someone when I… uh, ran into you?” he asked a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, my friends.” Julie said after taking a sip of her drink, “I’ve no idea where they’ve gotten off to now though.”

Josh winked. “I can help you find them, if you want?”

Julie shook her head. “No, it’s ok.” she said. “You don’t have to-“

“Aww, come on, it’d be fun.” he fluttered his eyelids suggestively in a way that Julie was pretty sure should’ve been her job according to most gender stereotypes, and she could not help but giggle. Josh seemed a very hard guy not to like and the alcohol was making his offer of companionship sound rather attractive.

“If you’re sure, Josh.”

“Oh, Julie, trust me, I’m sure.” 

They spent a fair bit of time roaming through the crowded nightclub looking for Julie’s friends, but they never did quite manage to find them. Julie was mildly annoyed, but at the same time, they had all been pretty drunk, so part of her also wasn’t completely sure if she wanted to know where they’d gotten off to. After her search ended in vain, Julie decided to simply spend time with Josh. He was quite the jokester, as it turned out, and his playful flirting had her flushing head to toe every few seconds. That fact was exacerbated by the alcohol that he kept buying her. So much so, in fact, that within a few hours, Josh had to practically carry Julie to the taxi he had called for her that was set to take her back to the hotel.

“You want me to come and give you a hand?” he asked, his speech just barely slurred.

Normally, Julie probably would have said no, but as she had been drinking, it was her first thought, not her measured one that came out of her mouth. “Please?”

Josh laughed openly as he helped buckle her in before sliding a bit clumsily into the seat next to her. Neither of them said a whole lot during the taxi ride, for Julie had just allowed her head to droop onto Josh’s shoulder and she was pretty sure she had briefly fallen asleep on the way there. 

When they entered her hotel room some twenty minutes later, by which time Julie was very grateful for Josh’s help because frankly, she was rather unsure if she’d have even made it there otherwise, they found that none of her friends had yet arrived. As it had turned out, they had all gone to a party of some guys they had met while Julie was off buying drinks, but Julie would not find out about that fact until quite a bit later.

Josh shrugged. “Weird, well, I s’pose this is it, cutie.” he said, slurring his words only a little bit as he smiled while helping Julie to the bed. The next words out of Julie’s mouth were the most surprising she had ever spoken, but in saying so, they were the words that would change her life forever. 

“Stay with me?”

Josh only paused for a moment but when he grinned, it was a grin worthy of the cat who’d caught the canary. “Sure thing, cutie.”

_**June 18, 1980.  
Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.  
4:46 AM.** _

As Julie sighed with relief upon the bearing of her new child, Tracey, she could not help but allow a weak, tired smile to cross her face. It had been a roller coaster since she’d met Josh nearly two years ago to the day. Since that fateful night in the nightclub, she and Josh had become extremely close and now, they had even conceived a child. Still, Julie felt a prickle of guilt permeate the seemingly unshakable bubble of euphoria that currently seemed to be her psyche. She still had not told Josh that she was a witch. She had an odd, foreboding feeling that if she came out with that revelation, the desired outcome would not be overly positive. Josh was rather traditional in many ways. He was not a huge fan of change in the world and if she just dropped the fact that she was a witch on his head, she was positively terrified how he might react.

Now, as she gingerly cradled her new born daughter in her arms, Julie wondered exactly how she could ever do that. After the birthing of their first child, the risk was far greater. If he reacted negatively, it could not only mean bad news for her, but for the bundle of life that she now held protectively against her body, the bundle which she already loved and cherished more than anything in the world.

_**November 11, 1983.  
The Norwich Household.  
7:14 PM.** _

Julie sat with Josh as they watched Tracey run around the living room, giggling happily as she gave pursuit to the laser pointer that Josh was casually pointing this way and that. Tracey was a very bubbly, energetic girl, even for her age. Since her birth, she had been rather unfond of the idea of sleep, and when she was awake, she seemed to make it her mission in life to be as active as possible. Julie found this exhausting for certain, but in saying so, there was something undeniably endearing about that habit of Tracey’s. That habit, however, often gave Julie and Josh near heart attacks. 

None more so than now, when Tracey made to turn on a dime and chase the light of the laser pointer. As she did so, she lost her balance and fell, and her momentum was sending her straight towards the wall headfirst. Before Julie or Josh could do so much as move, Tracey’s body spun like a cork in a complete one-eighty, allowing only her feet to slam into the wall. Sure, this still sparked some tears from their three-year-old daughter, but it was a much, much better outcome than what it could have been.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on which angle Julie took on the matter, it appeared as if Tracey had just cast her first bit of accidental magic. On one hand, she was beyond proud and it was absolutely exhilarating to know that her daughter would one day walk the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. On another, the look of sheer shock and astonishment on Josh’s face meant one thing and one thing only. 

It was time to explain a potentially unpleasant truth — one she had hidden from him for more than five years.

_**November 12, 1983.  
London, England.  
3:17 AM.** _

Josh Norwich stumbled drunkenly out of the bar in which he had spent much of his night doing his utmost best to drink his problems away. At present, he was positively sloshed, but on another hand, the problems that had arisen in the past number of hours, rather life changing problems, if he was being honest, did not seem to have gone away. His wife was a witch. What the fuck was going on? Witchcraft was something that he had been taught to fear from an early age. Witches were dangerous. He hadn’t exactly followed in the footsteps of his parents in regards to religion, but he did agree with many of the principles they had instilled upon him in regards to sorcery. 

Nothing good could come of such a thing and now his wife and daughter were fucking witches?

“Fuck!” he slurred, not really knowing how else to cope with this information.

He didn’t know what to think. He had nothing but positive things to say about his wife as a whole but if she was a witch, what was he to do? He could not have her using magic, he would not stand for it. Their daughter neither — no, neither of them would be using magic, he decided. He had no desire to leave Julie, at least not yet. Truthfully, she had started out as yet another conquest, but she had become an integral part of his life. Now, he knew he could never trust her, but he could still keep a patchy relationship going for the benefit of them both, and their daughter, perhaps.

_**August 15, 1984.  
The Norwich Household.  
9:55 PM.** _

Julie watched the father of her daughter warily as he unsteadily set his bottle of beer down on the table. Frankly, Julie was miserable. She did not know what to think anymore. The day after he’d apparently gone out on a bender, a very sour, very hungover Josh Norwich had returned to the house and laid down the law in no uncertain terms. They would stay together for the sake of their daughter but the trust that had been forged between them was damaged severely. In addition, he would leave immediately if she performed any magic. As terrible as all of that had seemed, nothing could have prepared Julie for what he said next. Their daughter would most certainly not be going to any school where some crackpot old wizard would teach her magic tricks. Worse still, if they could do so, they would condition Tracey never to use magic at all.

If that hadn’t been enough, both of Julie’s parents had died in a plane crash less than three months earlier, which left her emotionally torn apart for weeks. Quite simply, Julie Davis had been experiencing the worst year of her life and she had no reason to think it would improve anytime soon. If she were anyone else, all of this may have broken her but to the best of her abilities, Julie still maintained her upbeat, bubbly persona and way of life. Privately, she thought it may very well be the only thing that had gotten her through these most trying of times.

There was a large part of Julie that wanted to get up and leave right there. However, she knew that would never work. She did not want Tracey to grow up without a father, a fact that had been cast in sharp relief when she had lost her own. And Josh, for all of his faults, was the one bringing in the majority of the money in the household. London was not cheap, and Julie was unsure whether she could, at present, provide for herself and her daughter. There was also the problem of custody. She wasn’t sure if Josh would attempt to expose the wizarding world over a petty guardianship case, but it was a risk she didn’t want to take, even though logically, the Ministry would of course have smoothed it all over. 

Little did Julie Davis know that everything was about to change.

Tracey, who was playing in the corner, chose that exact moment to stumble, the fairly clumsy child she was, and bump hard into the lamp, sending it careening to the floor where it promptly broke into two, even halves. Josh immediately stumbled to his feet, cursing and tripping over his drunken self as he made his way towards Tracey, yelling at her angrily.

This was another problem with Josh. He had been a rather indulgent man in the best of times and since the revelation of a world of magic, he had, in Julie’s estimation, turned into a sort of raging alcoholic. It was this that had Julie on her feet. She did not think Josh would hurt Tracey, but she also did not want him screaming at her over something accidental. But then, before he could even get close to her, the lamp suddenly began to piece itself back together before slowly, ever so slowly, it drifted back up off the floor and back onto the small table in which it had stood.

Ringing silence was all that existed in the Davis’s sitting room until, with a muffled cry, Josh stepped forward and grabbed Tracey by the arms hard enough for the little girl to yell out in pain.

“Josh!” Julie screamed, even as the man muttered drunkenly about stamping the magic out of their daughter. Julie stepped up behind Josh, reaching up and raking her nails across his neck in order to distract him. The good news was that it worked. He did indeed let go of Tracey as red gouges blossomed on the surface of his skin. The not-so-good part, unfortunately, was when he whirled around and brought his hand up, slamming the back of it hard into Julie’s face and causing her to fall flat onto the floor as blood began to spout out of her nose. 

Tracey was crying again as Josh bent over Julie, his hot, laboured breath that smelled strongly of alcohol tickling her face. “I said no fuckin’ magic!” he slurred. “I don’ give a shit if it’s you or her. No fuckin’ magic means no fuckin’ magic, you hear?” All Julie could do was nod mutely as Josh stumbled off to the restroom, mercifully giving Julie enough time to grab her purse, grab Tracey, and get the hell out of the house.

_**August 16, 1984.  
A London Cafe.  
1:13 PM.** _

Tracey waited eagerly for her mummy to finish the small salad in front of her. She had been oddly quiet today; even four-year-old Tracey had managed to pick up on that and there was a rather tragic, almost depressed air around her that all older and wiser than Tracey picked up on instantly. A few minutes later, her mother finished and they stepped up to pay just as a family of four queued in behind them. Tracey peered at them with young, curious eyes. The couple were both a lot taller than her mummy and she loved the woman’s pretty hair. They had two little girls with them, two. One of them was a lot smaller than Tracey, cradled in the arms of the father whereas the other was probably about Tracey’s age, but a bit taller and she had the same, pretty hair as her mother whose hand she was holding.

From beside her, Tracey’s mother cursed under her breath as she rifled through her purse, trying to find the correct coins to pay. If Tracey was a bit older and more observant, perhaps she’d have noticed that her mother seemed flustered, almost as if she could not pay and was stalling for time. In a most hilariously ironic and ill timed display, Tracey spoke up right then and there.

“Mummy? Can we get ice cream from the stand?”

Tracey saw the frown on her mother’s face but failed to recognize the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Tracey, but mummy doesn’t have money for that right now.” Then, to their surprise, a clearing of a throat from behind them caught Julie and Tracey’s attention and Julie flushed as she looked upon the man and woman, who were quite clearly the highest of class and likely impatient for the rabble to hurry up. “Oh,” Julie said with a blush, trying in vain to find more coins in her purse that just weren’t there, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

To her great surprise, the woman smiled easily at her. “No, no, that wasn’t it at all. I was just going to ask you if you’d allow us to pay for your meal and take you and your daughter out for the ice cream that she seems to want so badly?”

Julie’s jaw actually fell agape just as Tracey visibly perked up upon hearing the words “ice cream” uttered. 

“You-you’re quite sure?” Julie asked, not wanting to blow the golden opportunity but also failing to see what these people’s game was.

The woman nodded. “Of course,” she said, stepping up to the counter and sweeping the money Julie had placed there into her hand before handing it back to the woman, replacing it with notes of her own, “it would be our pleasure.” she smiled at Julie and held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, as a matter of fact. My name is Celia and my husband's name is Cyrus. My eldest daughter is Daphne and my youngest is Astoria.”

“That’s a really pretty name!” Tracey spoke up, smiling at Daphne who giggled in return. 

“What’s yours?” the taller girl asked, eyeing the strawberry blonde in front of her with unmasked curiosity.

“Tracey.” Tracey answered excitedly, positively bouncing at meeting a new friend.

Daphne giggled. “That’s a nice name, but I like mine better.” 

_**October 18, 1984.  
The Norwich Household.  
8:03 PM.** _

It had been a number of weeks until Julie and Tracey had returned back home. They had spent as much time in hotels as possible, using much of the money that was saved in the family’s accounts. They did eventually have to return though, and the months since the return had been extremely tense. By this point, Julie and Josh barely spoke to one another at all, and even little Tracey knew something was off. Even she was rather skittish around her father.

The one major improvement in Tracey’s life was Daphne. Since they had met up in the cafe, the two girls had been allowed to spend a considerable amount of time together. Tracey and her mother had been present during a bout of accidental magic from Daphne and when the Greengrasses hastily tried to explain it away, Julie had simply smiled and explained that both her and Tracey were witches as well. Since then, the relationship between Daphne and Tracey had become a lot closer. She had been told by her mother never to mention magic or that Daphne and her family were “witches”, but Tracey had been allowed to go over to the Greengrasses quite frequently. As a matter of fact, the Greengrasses would arrive at their home to pick up Tracey for their planned sleepover the very next morning.

That night, Tracey, Josh and Julie were eating a rather late dinner. As usual, Josh had alcohol in front of him and as usual, he had become exceptionally tipsy. This fact made itself clear only minutes into the meal when Josh made to stand and bumped the table rather hard, sending scalding hot coffee from Julie’s cup cascading everywhere. Unfortunately, most of it doused Tracey, who cried out in immediate pain as rather horrid looking burns made themselves present on her skin.

“Josh!” Julie cried in outrage, sweeping to her feet.

“Fuck!” Josh cursed. To the man’s credit, he did seem to be trying to make a move towards the cold cloth but to his discredit, the burns on Tracey’s body were very clearly too severe to be quelled by a bit of cool water. It was in that moment that with her daughter crying in front of her, Julie did the bravest thing she had ever done in her life and made a choice that would change the life of her daughter forever. 

“Episkey.” she incanted, sliding her wand from her sleeve and aiming it at Tracey, who almost immediately quieted as her burns vanished. Josh, on the other hand, positively swelled with righteous fury as he turned on Julie, reaching out to grab her. Unfortunately for him, there was a flash of white light and he was sent skidding backwards across the floor, a look of absolute fury on his face. Before he could react, Julie scooped up Tracey and made her way up the stairs to the home’s second level as fast as possible. Once there, she quickly bolted into the bedroom and locked the door, making a mad dash to pack everything she could get her hands on, ignoring her daughter’s constant string of questions as she did so. Finally, after about five minutes packing and with a heart rate of around one-hundred-eighty beats per minute, Julie told Tracey to get behind her as they exited the room.

Unfortunately, Julie’s hands were rather full and as a result, she could not hold her wand. As soon as the door was opened, Julie was grabbed forcefully by the throat and slammed hard against the wall. The hastily packed bags in her arms fell in a pile at her feet as she began to struggle to free herself. Tracey was screaming and crying, but Julie did not hear her as she felt Josh’s hot breath on her face. Then, she did the only thing she could when hopelessly outmatched.

She kicked him where it hurt. Then, as Josh staggered back, Julie attempted to get around him and to her daughter but unfortunately, she never made it. In a last ditch effort to stamp out the magic in his family, Josh lunged for Julie without much intention. He slammed into her forcefully and she fell backwards — right down the stairs, head first.

There were several loud thuds as she careened down the stairs and the cries of panic from Tracey and terrified cursing of Josh Norwich mixed in. Then, when Julie’s fall had ended, both Tracey and Josh rushed towards her for very different reasons.

Tracey wanted so badly to make sure that her mother was okay whereas Josh needed to make sure he wasn’t about to go to jail for manslaughter. When the two of them reached the bottom and Josh knelt over Julie, he paled almost at once when there was no pulse present at her throat.

_**The Present.**  
July 18, 1992.  
Greengrass Manor.  
9:53 AM. _

In a rare moment, Harry experienced a complete loss of his formidable self-control, as he gaped openly at Tracey as his eyes did their best to bulge out of his head. “What happened then?” He asked incredulously. 

Tracey shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “He left; ran for his life, I imagine. The Greengrasses found me and Mum the next morning and pieced together what had happened. They got in touch with Mum’s best friend from Hogwarts, Annabel, a half blood married to a muggleborn, and I’ve lived with her and her husband, Daniel ever since.” Tracey smiled fondly in spite of the story. “I love them — I honestly love them.”

Harry did not even know how to respond to any of what he had just been told. “Your… father, ugh! I don’t even want to call the bastard that — what happened to him?” 

Tracey shrugged. “He was sent to prison for murder.” Harry’s eyes widened before a rather morbid realization set in. By the law, it should have only been manslaughter, but if the Greengrasses had pulled some strings — possibly with some magic involved…

“Fuck, Tracey…” Harry muttered, not knowing anything else to say. “How can you just… say all that?”

She offered him a sad smile. “It still isn’t pleasant.” she said honestly. “I wish I’d have got to know mum when I was older than five and it hurts to think about it but it does get a lot easier.” she shot him a rather pointed look. “I wouldn’t talk about it for a couple of years until my step parents got me a therapist. Once I started talking about it, it got easier. He once told me that telling is accepting.” she shrugged. “Like I said, the pain never goes away, but it lessens with time.” 

“I would’ve never guessed any of that about you.” Harry muttered, and it was true. In his estimation, Tracey was far too bubbly, far too optimistic for that horrible reality to have been her childhood. 

“It was a long time ago.” she reminded him. “I can barely remember most of that except for the final night. A lot of it was told to me by Annabel, since she kept in contact with Mum until the end.” Tracey sighed. “I’ve grown up a lot since then, but part of it is talking about it and not hiding from it.” she was giving Harry a long, searching glance. Harry noticed that Tracey definitely looked down, as if the story had taken a lot out of her, but she was still very much in control. “Do you understand now why I think I can understand you better than other people?” Harry nodded reluctantly. “It’s different, I know — our circumstances. But if my guesses are true — there are definitely similarities too.” she reached out and took his hand briefly, giving it a quick squeeze. Harry did not have the energy to even think of tensing or flinching away. “Anytime you need me, Harry, I’m here, ok?”

There was a long pause in which Harry watched the small, distant figures of Blaise and Daphne slowly make their approach from far away. “Thank you, Tracey,” he said quietly, having no other words to speak, “I’ll… keep that in mind, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So this was a heavy chapter, but it’s one I’ve been planning for a long time. I see so many fics, Slytherin Harry ones in particular, utilize Tracey as a friend of Harry’s, but she is almost always lost in the shuffle. Not only does she never have a purpose, but we rarely learn anything about her. Seriously, I can only think of two Slytherin Harry series/stories in which we learn anything about Tracey, and in one of them, it is VERY LITTLE. In short, I wanted to break that trend with this story and I thought she could be useful in the role I have portrayed her in.**
> 
> **There won’t be a chapter this dark again for a while, so no worries about trigger warnings and such, but I hope you all enjoyed the chapter in spite of the change in tone.**
> 
> **Speaking of the contents of the chapter, please don’t come after me in the reviews for letting the Dursleys off easy. I won’t spoil anything, but hint hint, nudge nudge, there time will come. The same can be said for the other characters who’s heads you’ve been calling for. Patience is a virtue, after all.**
> 
> **Also, a shoutout to Darth from my Discord server for pointing out that degrees of murder are not a thing in the UK. Residing in Canada and also being aware of the American system, I had always assumed that was fairly universal among major first world countries. An additional shoutout to Discord member Haphne Cult Leader for explaining the categorization of murder in the UK.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 4th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	4. Proposals and Changes of Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**July 18, 1992  
Privet Drive  
11:34 AM** _

With the smallest of pops, a tall man in flowing blue robes appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, standing out like a sore thumb against the uniform normality that had been the norm for this neighbourhood for as long as any could remember. Indeed, it was lucky that nobody was on the streets at that moment in time to see the man’s appearance, for beyond the small issue of seeing a man pop into existence from nowhere, many of the inhabitants of this place would have phoned up a mental institution had they seen any dressed so luridly as the venerable Hogwarts Headmaster.

Suffice to say, Albus Dumbledore had gone through a rather stressful few weeks. After his conversation with his Potions Master and a few more days to linger in his ivory tower, Dumbledore had quickly departed for the annual summer ICW convention, something that had taken several weeks of his time. Indeed, Dumbledore had only arrived back on British soil and re-entered the comforts of his office less than an hour ago, thanks to the time zone difference. But then, his stress levels had gone up even more.

Albus Dumbledore kept many intricate trinkets within his office. Some of them had indeed been of his own creation, but many had been collected from his numerous trips over the years. The one that was flaring upon his entrance, however, was not only extremely concerning, but one of a kind. It had been one of the few things that Albus had salvaged after the Battle of Nurmengard and the fall of Grindelwald, and he had to admit, it was a rather ingenious creation. It was a trinket that could manually keep very specific tabs on a set of blood wards even from very far away. The best Albus could deduce, Gellert had used it to view the status of the wards of Nurmengard and Katalysator. As Dumbledore could honestly say blood magic was something he viewed as distasteful, he never thought he would ever have use for the artifact. That was, until 1981, when he had hidden the Potter Heir behind a set of blood wards himself.

He had frowned at the device before checking it urgently. Fortunately, the wards had not completely collapsed, but he could tell that they were just days away, possibly weeks, if he was lucky, and hours, if he was particularly unlucky, from collapsing if something drastic did not change. Harry Potter had slipped away from Privet Drive, and Albus could only sigh at that information. He had thought that his warning about knowing whether or not Harry was occupying the property would have been enough. That was, after all, one of the few advantages to Harry being in Slytherin House. It was a House that prided itself on self-preservation and Albus could admit that he thought that instinct would have been enough for the young man to heed his warning. 

The fall of the wards would be concerning, but not directly detrimental. The problem would be that with their collapse, Dumbledore would lose his most plausible reason for sending Harry back to Privet Drive if need be. With how strained the relationship was between Harry and Charlus, he was not sure that he could have dared to allow them to live together. If the twins’ bond was broken by an act of betrayal on either of their parts, that would mean rather ominous things for the world if Sybil Trelawney’s Great Prophecy had anything to say about it.

It was with all of this in mind that Albus Dumbledore strode purposefully down Privet Drive and up the path through the well kept lawn of the house that he knew belonged to the Dursley family. Fearing what he may find inside, Albus Dumbledore raised his hand and knocked softly on the door several times. There was a slight pause before the door opened and he was greeted with the image of a very large boy with short blonde hair who positively gaped at the appearance of the man in front of him.

In spite of himself and the situation at hand, Albus felt his lips twitch. “Good morning. Mister Dursley, I presume?” The boy nodded dumbly, still seeming to be in disbelief at what he was seeing. “A pleasure, young man. It is my hope that your parents may indulge me in a bit of business I would like to take care of today, if you would be so kind as to fetch them or lead me to them directly?”

There was a long pause in which Dudley Dursley very clearly composed himself before he turned and, in a rather horrible screech, called, “Mum! Dad! Someone’s at the door for you!” Then, he left, evidently trying to get away from the odd man in the door as fast as his legs would carry him. If the look of surprise on the youngest Dursley’s face had been amusing, Dumbledore could have chuckled aloud at the looks of aghast shock and horror that adorned the faces of Petunia and Vernon. He suspected that Vernon simply abhorred what he considered a most splendid outfit, but Petunia very clearly recognized him and she very clearly was not happy about it.

“You?” she breathed in an accusatory hiss of a voice as Vernon grunted in agreement.

“Me.” Dumbledore responded easily, his eyes resting on Petunia. “I was under the impression, Petunia, that the two of us had come to a mutual understanding in regards to Harry Potter. You were to keep him safe here until I told you otherwise. You had agreed upon this. So now, on this most pleasant morning, I find myself in your presence to question you on what exactly has changed?” He did not bother informing them how he knew that their wizarding charge was no longer present within the home. Judging by the horror struck look on the large man’s face, it was the first question he wanted to ask, but his wife beat him to the metaphorical punch.

“Changed? Nothing changed! The boy left last night! He wanted out and we didn’t stop him! How could we have stopped him? What could we have done to make him stay?”

Dumbledore’s brows furrowed. “I suspect you could perhaps have done a great number of things, though they likely would have required far more effort than the two of you were clearly willing to exercise.” 

The man swelled. “Now wait one moment!” he protested. “You dare to stand on the threshold of my home and accuse us-“

“I do not yet dare to accuse you of anything, Mister Dursley.” Dumbledore said calmly. “That, however, is subject to change.” Then, Dumbledore slipped a long, dark wand from his sleeve and immediately, both of the elder Dursleys stepped back enough to inadvertently admit him into their home. When he had crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, Dumbledore sighed. “I do apologize in advance for what will more than likely be a less than pleasant experience, but I do ensure you it leaves no lasting pain or damage of any kind.” Then, he took aim at Petunia. 

“Legilimens.”

Dumbledore could have searched through her mind without a wand, that much was true. Doing it that way had its disadvantages though. For one thing, very few witches or wizards could do much more than glean surface thoughts with the use of wandless, wordless Legilimency. While Dumbledore himself was admittedly one of the few that could, it was, for one, more taxing and for two, it could not be done with the same degree of thoroughness. In this instance, when Dumbledore suspected foul play, he did need to be thorough. After all, without a wand, he may never have been able to detect the small traces of memory alterations on both of the elder Dursleys. They had been performed very well, to Albus’s annoyance. He could break them with some rather advanced Legilimency, but it would need to be quite forceful, and he had no intention of putting either Dursley through that. Though the images he saw in their minds that related to Harry Potter very sorely tempted him. 

Now, Albus found himself more worried than ever. He had expected that Harry would be neglected and was quite sure of it when the young boy had arrived at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin. He had to admit though, standing in the Dursley household on that warm, yet breezy summer morning, that he would have never expected the Dursleys to be as cruel as they had been. People had accused Albus for years of always seeing the best in people. Now, for perhaps only the second time, Albus had to grudgingly admit that his naysayers may well have a point. He had misjudged the Dursleys terribly. Unbidden, thoughts of another magical prodigy who had been sorted into Slytherin and grown up in a place of abuse and neglect filtered into Dumbledore’s mind and took lodge right beside the part of it that was reciting the words of the third stanza of the Great Prophecy. 

He would not allow Harry Potter to go down the route that Emily Riddle had walked down before him. There was still hope for Harry and now, after seeing this connection, Dumbledore thought he may have been going about it all wrong. Well, not all wrong, he supposed. The enchanted pieces of parchment had been a good start to his new plan, even if he did admittedly have a third linked to both of them. Now, Dumbledore realized that it may not be the best of ideas to force the Potter twins apart. Perhaps instead, he should try and fix their relationship and maybe Harry would be better off far, far away from this place. It was risky, but he didn’t see why it couldn’t work. After all, Emily Riddle never had a family; she had never known love and if Dumbledore did not want to repeat the sins of the past, perhaps he needed to remedy matters in order to avert the events of the Great Prophecy.

_**July 18, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
1:30 PM** _

With his final thanks and goodbyes to the Greengrasses out of the way, Harry stepped into the fire and loudly called out the name of the Weitts family home, ready to join his trunk, which had been taken over by one of the Greengrass house elves already, in arriving. Again, Harry was reminded of how nauseatingly unpleasant he considered Floo travel to be, as fireplace after fireplace spun past his field of view at positively ludicrous speeds. Within about thirty seconds, Harry found himself being thrown out of a fireplace and though he stumbled a bit on the landing, he did manage to, for the most part, turn it into a graceful arrival.

When he arrived this time, the entire family was not waiting for him. There was one figure waiting for him though, and her calculating bluish-silver eyes fixed upon him at once. “Heiress Weitts.” Harry greeted, and Grace sighed.

“If we’re going to be sharing a property for the rest of the summer, we might as well drop the formalities in private.” she told him. “I imagine a first name basis will be less awkward, in any case.”

Harry nodded. “Fair enough.” he conceded, casting his eyes around the large entrance hall and again finding them resting on the large family crest and cryptic inscription. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what that means, will you?” Harry asked, gesturing vaguely to the inscription upon the crest.

Grace studied him for nearly a full minute before answering his question. “Not now,” she decided, “there will be time for that eventually, I’m sure.” She gestured for Harry to follow her and he did so. He quickly recognized the path as the one to the room he had frequented during his last visit and as a result, he wasn’t too surprised when they arrived at the same, luxurious room. “I have a feeling you remember the layout of the manor?” Grace asked him. Vaguely, Harry wondered if Daphne had told Charlotte about his memory, who had then passed the information onto Grace, but he didn’t think that option to be anything more than unlikely.

“I remember, yes.”

Grace nodded. “Dinner tonight will likely be served some time around 6:00, but I imagine you’ll run into my sister before then.”

Harry allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “That’s probably a safe bet.” 

He expected Grace to immediately leave, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued to lean leisurely against the wall and examine him critically. Only after a minute or so of this did she speak again. “You and I need to talk at some point soon. I have a… proposal of sorts to make, but I don’t think now is the time in light of… recent events.” Harry tensed. “Get yourself situated here first and come find me in the next few days when you’re ready.” Harry thought that was probably the most sentimental thing he had ever heard the now seventh year Slytherin girl say.

“Sure thing.” Harry answered before getting one last word in before she left. “Grace,” wow, Harry thought, it felt weird saying her first name, “how much did the Greengrasses tell you?”

If Harry expected the question to catch Grace off guard, which he probably shouldn’t have, in retrospect, he’d have been disappointed. “More than you would have liked them to, I would assume.” Harry’s jaw tightened, but he showed no other visible reaction as he nodded curtly. He hoped they had at least left out the bit about bars on the window, but he supposed it mattered very little now, loathe as he was to admit it, at least in the grand scheme of things.

A few hours later, Harry was snapped out of his daily Occlumency exercises by a soft knock on the bedroom door. Standing to his feet, he quickly strode across the room and pulled the door open to reveal the smiling form of Charlotte. “Good afternoon.” he greeted with a raised eyebrow, a bit taken aback by her jubilant smile.

“It’s good to see you again.” she told him, her smile still unwavering. “It’s been a long time.”

Harry’s eyebrow rose a bit further. “I didn’t think I’d made quite that kind of impression.”

Charlotte sighed dramatically. “I’ve told you already, you interest me and you’re not at all unpleasant to be around.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. It was so typical of Charlotte, from what he knew about her, at least, to throw out a backhanded compliment like that. “Thanks, I guess.” he said with a grin.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you all of this already and I’d have thought Yule made it pretty obvious.” There was a tense sort of pause as both of them reminisced on the book Charlotte had sent him.

“I do feel guilty about that.” Harry admitted after a time.

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, looking confusedly back at him. “Whatever for?”

“Well, I thought the necklace was decent, but it didn’t really compare to the book.”

Charlotte just smiled sweetly. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a way to make it up to me this year.”

“I should be able to manage.” he said. “I’ve been told I’m quite brilliant.” he added, allowing a blatantly hyperbolized smirk of arrogance to dawn on his face.

Charlotte kept her brows raised. “Oh, and who told you this?”

“Daphne.”

Charlotte actually laughed this time; she couldn’t help it. “That is a conversation I would love to see.” 

“It sort of turned into an inside joke.” Harry admitted, stepping out of his room to lean against the wall opposite Charlotte. “His room” was an odd thought. He supposed it wasn’t “technically” his, but for all intents and purposes, it was his for the summer. He also supposed that he’d technically had his own room for the past year at Privet Drive, but that never felt like his, for that was never truly his home.

Charlotte’s lips twitched. “For some reason, that does not surprise me. If I had to guess, you intentionally took it out of context and it’s now your trump card in any argument against Daphne.”

“Got it in one.” Harry said mischievously, causing Charlotte to laugh again, something that only continued when he added, “Just don’t tell Daphne, will you? She’s rather scary when she’s angry.” That part was actually very true, now that he thought about it, but Charlotte did not need to know the hidden depths of that comment. She must have sensed at least a bit of what Harry was thinking because when she stopped laughing, she jerked her head towards the window. 

“Would you fancy a walk, if I’m not interrupting anything?” she asked. “I’ve been inside all day doing lessons and I could use some fresh air.” 

Harry nodded. “I don’t see why not, I wasn’t really doing much and it’s a nice day out, if a bit breezy.” The two of them made their way outside using the secret passage Charlotte had used all those months ago. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing all too well it was done to annoy him as much as speed up the route. “You do love lording your knowledge over me, don’t you?”

“Shush, you,” Charlotte retorted, “I did basically hand feed you the knowledge that you wanted to know most back at Samhain.”

“Touché.” 

“I thought so.”

Harry laughed again. It was odd. He really didn’t laugh around people very often, but there was something about Charlotte he just enjoyed. It was different from Daphne. Their relationship almost seemed similar to Daphne’s and Blaise’s, if a bit on the lesser end of the sniping spectrum. It was enjoyable though. If nothing else, the youngest member of the Weitts family certainly managed to keep Harry on his toes, which was more than he could say about most people his age.

When they exited onto the grounds, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. It was, in many ways, the opposite of the Greengrass property, though there were some definite similarities. For example, both properties had lakes, though the one on Weitts Manor appeared to be man, or more likely, magic made, and was much larger. Whereas Greengrass Manor was surrounded by hills far in the distance, Weitts Manor seemed to rest atop a hill, with its splendid grounds spreading out in every direction a bit below. 

Charlotte grinned knowingly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically, and there was a certain, soft kind of fondness in her voice.

“It is.” Harry admitted. “I’ve only seen two of these,” he said, referencing manor homes, “but both of them are beautiful.” 

Charlotte nodded. “I suppose your relationship has gone in the wrong direction with your father judging by… recent events.” 

Harry’s posture stiffened as they began to walk once more. “You could say that, yes.” he answered darkly.

“Do me a favour, will you?” Charlotte asked him as they began to walk down the hill and into the valley below.

“Depends on what it is, I suppose.”

“Fair enough.” she conceded with some amusement. “When your father comes running back for forgiveness, don’t turn your back right away.” When Harry looked incredulous, Charlotte raised a hand to silence him. “Let me finish, Harry.” she chided, as if she were a Kindergarten teacher speaking to her five-year-old student. “When he comes begging for forgiveness, because trust me, he will, take everything he offers you and more. Use the prat for everything he’s worth and then, only when he isn’t useful to you anymore, throw everything he’s done in his face right before you ruin him.”

There was a long silence between the two of them as they walked. It was nearly three minutes before Harry responded. “You really do not talk like a ten-year-old, or is it eleven now?”

“It’s eleven.” Charlotte said, clearly amused.

Harry nodded. “Before we rehash our Samhain discussion on that point, can I admit something to you, Charlotte?”

She looked at him, obviously curious and a bit taken aback. “Be my guest.”

“I can see why you and Daphne are such good friends. You’re also rather scary when you're angry.” As they continued to walk, Charlotte’s giggles permeated the air for several minutes until the two of them moved onto more mundane topics of conversation.

_**Several hours later...** _

Harry took his seat beside Charlotte at the table, just as a house elf laid the food upon the table and Regent Weitts entered the room, marking this as the first time today that Harry had seen him. “Good evening, everybody.” he greeted a bit tiredly, taking his seat at the head of the table and thanking the house elf before the creature exited the room. “It’s good to see you again, Heir Potter.”

“Likewise, sir.”

“Surely, we can dispense with such formalities.” Lady Weitts said from her spot beside Grace, who sat across from Harry. “If we’re spending a summer together, I see no reason why we should not simply be on first name bases with one another?”

After both Harry and Sigmund, that would also take some getting used to, had agreed, the meal began in earnest and silence fell over the group of them. It was not until about five or so minutes into the meal that Adriana turned to her husband. “You look tired. Was it a particularly difficult day of work?”

“Not particularly, no.” he admitted. “I just don’t think I’ll get a whole lot done tomorrow with the Wizengamot meeting. So, I wanted to make sure everything could run smoothly for a day without me if need be.” 

“Isn’t tomorrow the meeting where the Malfoys, Notts, Selwyns and Macnairs are on trial?” Charlotte asked and Harry’s ears perked up at once. He had no love for his father at the moment. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact, but it would still be satisfying to see Malfoy knocked down yet another peg.

“It is,” Sigmund answered neutrally, “but I don’t expect it to be overly eventful.”

Charlotte frowned. “Why not?”

Instead of answering, Sigmund looked to his eldest daughter, clearly issuing a challenge of sorts. Grace swallowed her food measuredly before answering her younger sister’s question. “They have no way of disputing the eyewitness account of two aurors, even if James Potter’s account is a bit of a grey area since he is the persecuting party.” she frowned. “The smear campaign against the Malfoys, Notts, Macnairs and Selwyns hasn’t helped either.”

“Smear campaign?” Harry asked curiously.

“In the Prophet.” Grace explained. “That Skeeter woman has been all over this story. If there’s a popular bit of drama in the wizarding world, she pounces on it.” she shrugged. “The first story she ran on the Malfoys and the rest back in May did well, so she decided to stick with it and milk it for all it’s worth. They haven’t exactly done Lucius Malfoy any favours.”

Harry had to try very hard not to smirk in a sort of self-satisfied way, since he wasn’t sure that would be such a good idea in the presence of Sigmund and Adriana.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share that story?” Sigmund asked interestedly. “I won’t use it at the meeting or anything, just out of personal curiosity?”

Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “There’s not a whole lot to it, really.” he tried. “He accused me of smuggling a dragon out of Hogwarts; even dragged me into Snape’s office over it with a fake crate and everything. Frankly, I’d rather not be anywhere near a dragon.” No one’s expression changed, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he had fooled nobody at the table. He would have to tread carefully with the giving of information in this household. Suddenly, it became no wonder to Harry why Grace was at the top of the ladder in Slytherin. This environment, friendly, caring, but always challenging, would practically breed top tier Slytherins.

“Before you go, Harry, do you have any questions?” Adriana asked. “Just about general rules and such of the house?”

Harry returned her gaze pensively. “Am I allowed to use magic?” he asked hopefully and to his relief, Adriana dawned a small but soft smile in return.

“I would encourage it.” she replied. “I have always told both Grace and Charlotte to use as much magic as possible without going out of their way to do so.” She peered curiously at Harry. “I have heard… good things about you, Harry, and am curious to know if you might understand why that is?”

Suddenly aware that he had the attention of all at the table fixated upon him, Harry made sure to choose his words very carefully. “Magic is similar to a muscle in a lot of ways.” he answered. “The more you use a spell, the easier it becomes to cast said spell, because your mind and whatever connection we have to magic gains a sort of deeper understanding of that spell.” he shrugged. “I’ve had it explained to me in broad terms, but I’m not a magical theorist by any means.”

Adriana looked mildly impressed. “That’s the gist of it.” she affirmed. “After a time, you will also negate the need for things like wand movements and incantations.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Like… how we were first taught to cast Lumos with a looping wand movement and now I can do it with a much shorter one?”

Adriana crooked an eyebrow. “I imagine that you can very easily cast Lumos without a wand movement at all, I just don’t think you’ve tried. As a matter of fact, take out your wand and cast Lumos, but do so with your wand pointing straight at the floor and do not move it at all. You may need to focus more than you’re accustomed to, but I’m sure you’ll have no issues.” Harry nodded and did as he was told. His eyes widened by a fraction when the wand lit perfectly fine and without pause. 

“That’s… interesting.” he understated, and Adriana nodded. 

“Magic as a whole is rather interesting.” she said with a near conspiratorial smile. 

_**July 20th 1992  
Weitts Manor  
8:34 AM** _

_**Houses Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair Plead Guilty to Disgusting Offenses Committed by their Heirs!  
By Rita Skeeter** _

“That’s a bit dramatic.” were Harry’s first words as he took his seat at the table with Charlotte, Adriana and Grace two days after he had arrived at the manor. Of course, he already knew what the article would say, as Sigmund had pretty much told them the entire story last night at dinner. In spite of that, it was still interesting to see Skeeter’s most recent attack on the reputations of four people whom Harry disliked with vitriol.

Seeming to realize exactly where Harry’s mind was going, Adriana waved her wand absentmindedly, creating a duplicate of the paper, which quickly floated over to Harry since she was still reading hers. “It is very valuable to hear all perspectives of any given situation.” Adriana muttered absently, and whether that was directed at Harry, her daughters, or both, he was not sure. Either way, he gratefully peered down at the Daily Prophet and read what “the harpy”, as Blaise referred to Skeeter as, had to say on the matter.

_**Yesterday, the Wizengamot convened for their weekly meeting. However, this meeting was not quite as mundane as the others. Before the conclusion of this meeting, we had a definitive end to the ongoing drama between House Potter on one side, and Houses Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair on the other.** _

_**Unfortunately, the trial did not live up to the delicious, soap opera levels of drama that many of us had expected. Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lord Tiberius Nott and Lord Walden Macnair all pleaded guilty to false accusations levelled at the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House, or, in the case of House Macnair, an Ancient House, on behalf of their own Heirs and Houses. Lady Abigail Selwyn, standing Regent for House Selwyn, did the same. Houses Malfoy, Nott and Selwyn must pay House Potter 50,000 galleons in compensation by July 31st, while House Macnair must pay 25,000.** _

_**The fact that none of these families had even one defense is very concerning and it brings into question if there is more ongoing than meets the eye. Were these four families perhaps worried about things hidden away coming to light if this trial went on any longer than it absolutely had to? Is it possible that there are even more dark and hidden depths to some of the most questionable pasts in Magical Britain?** _

Upon the completion of Skeeter’s article, Harry hummed in a self-satisfied sort of manner before putting it down. “Well, that was scandalous.” he said, not sounding overly bothered by the fact.

Grace sniffed. “Everything Rita Skeeter has ever done has been scandalous.”

Harry nodded. “I think Blaise put it best. That woman is a harpy, but dead useful if she’s on your side.”

“That is a fairly accurate summary, yes.” Adriana mused, putting down her own copy of the Daily Prophet just as another owl flew through the window. To Harry’s surprise, it was flying towards him and to his even greater surprise, he recognized it as the Potter family owl. He tensed, if barely, but it was enough to alert all three members of the Weitts family currently at the table that something was serious. Tentatively, Harry reached out and untied the letter from the bird’s leg, absentmindedly allowing it to nibble on a piece of bacon as he did so. It wasn’t the owl’s fault that his family were gits; it could eat if it wanted. 

When he removed the envelope, he was tempted to check for curses, but seeing as there were laws in place to prevent James from physically harming him, at least if he were to get caught, he figured it was safe to assume that the envelope was not cursed.

_Dear Harry,  
First, I want to say how disappointed I am that you left your relatives. I know they were prats and I honestly don’t like the fact you were sent there much more than you do, but Professor Dumbledore had very good reasons for wanting you there and I am very disappointed that you would not consider those reasons before leaving._

This opening paragraph caused Harry’s eyes to flash with fury and he nearly burned the letter to a crisp right there with his wand, but with an admirable amount of restraint, he continued. 

_That aside, I really do hope those muggles weren’t too terrible to you. Professor Dumbledore did promise he’d make sure they weren’t, so I’m sure it was at least one of your more pleasant summers with them._

At this point, Harry just skimmed the letter until James shut up about the Dursleys because quite frankly, he could not be asked to put up with his father’s shit right now, and if he read one more Merlin forsaken line about that blasted family, he would be lighting a lot more than the letter on fire. Finally, he found the end of his father’s useless ramblings and his eyes narrowed upon what was very obviously the true contents of the letter.

_All that aside, I’m not sure if you know, but the Potters host an annual celebration for Charlus’s birthday. It’s a sort of charity event, but this year, since you’re back and integrated into the magical world, we thought it would be a good idea to invite you and celebrate yours alongside him. It’s a… pretty big social event, but I know you were at the Weitts’s Samhain Gala so I’m sure you can handle yourself just fine, and we only invite the right sort anyways._

_Please owl back as soon as possible. I… understand if you’re upset with me and don’t want to come, but it would mean a lot for the Potter family if you’re there. I would also formally present you with your Heir’s ring at the Gala. I’m really sorry I didn’t do that in Hogsmeade last year, but I was… advised, that it would be a good move in terms of publicity to do it publically._

_Hope you’re safe and enjoying your summer wherever you are, even if you really shouldn’t be there._

_Your father_

Only through the use of Occlumency did Harry manage to keep his facial expression under control, but it did nothing to stop his eyes from flaming like the pits of hell. “What is it?” Charlotte asked him, sounding more curious than nervous.

“I am invited to celebrate my birthday alongside my brother at the annual gala hosted by my family.” Harry did an admirable job of keeping his voice neutral, but there was still a drop of coolness in his undertones.

“You should go.” Adriana said, almost offhandedly, drawing a rather surprised look from Harry. She merely raised an eyebrow. “Can you give me a legitimate reason why it is not advantageous to you in any way, shape or form to attend the gala aside from the fact that you do not wish to be near your father?” Harry had to mentally admit that she had a point. 

“They could potentially try and take him back to his relatives.” Grace answered clinically with no emotion attached to her voice. Harry thankfully did not spit out the milk that was in his mouth at the time, but it was a near miss, and he did have a rather dramatic coughing fit. 

Adriana nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true. Perhaps write back and say you would like a contract drawn up to guarantee you will not be returned to your relatives or have any changes made to your arrangements this summer if you attend the gala.”

Harry frowned. “They have no reason to sign that though, do they?”

Adriana took a moment to ponder his question. “May I read the letter?“ Harry hesitated for only a moment before he acquiesced. There really wasn’t anything personal written within the letter anyways. After a long pause, Adriana answered him. “They have no reason not to. If you don’t attend, they won’t be able to find you, hence they lose nothing by promising not to do something they are currently incapable of doing. Furthermore, if you attend, James Potter earns the publicity of presenting you with your ring and gets to introduce his Heir. I know you do not wish to publicly endorse your father right now, but it is more to your benefit to play nice for the cameras and if you truly wish to work against him, wait until the correct opportunity presents itself. Forcing conflict for conflict’s sake almost always ends in disaster.”

Privately, Harry marvelled at Adriana’s political acumen. He had just been positively schooled during what he realized to be his first real lesson in politics. The irony was not lost on him that instead of his father teaching him those lessons as it should have been, it was somebody who his father at the very least distrusted. And the political advice imparted onto James’s son was how best to outmaneuver the man himself. 

“How would I check over any contract he proposes to make sure there’s nothing sneaky hidden in it?”

“That’s easy,” Adriana dismissed, “I could very easily put you in touch with a number of people who could do that. Actually, amongst their many businesses, the Greengrasses own a law firm that may suit your purposes.” Harry nodded; it all made sense to him. 

Once the meal had concluded, Charlotte and Adriana made their way out of the kitchen and off to somewhere Harry didn’t know. Charlotte had morning lessons with her mother of some kind. Harry assumed it was some sort of tutoring, but he had not yet asked. As he and Grace left the kitchen, Harry decided now was as good a time as ever. 

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Grace didn’t even break stride as she nodded, seeming to be satisfied by his question. “I did. I’m assuming you want to do it now?” when Harry nodded, Grace gestured for him to follow her, and she led him up to the same floor that he and Charlotte stayed on. This time, she led him further down the hall and to a door he had never opened. When Grace placed a hand on the doorknob, the lock clicked and admitted the two of them. 

If Harry expected to learn a lot about Grace from her room, he was sadly disappointed. The walls were done in a soft, greyish colour and a very large bookshelf took up a fair bit of space as well. If not for the fact that the rooms in the manor were massive, it would have dominated the room. Grace took a seat at the head of her bed, leaning casually against the wall and gestured for Harry to take a seat on the bed facing her. When he did so, she began.

“You’ve been learning Occlumency, haven’t you?” When Harry’s eyes widened, Grace’s lips twitched. “Don’t be so surprised, Harry.” It was odd to hear her call him anything other than Potter. “I’m quite a high-level Occlumens myself and I can recognize the signs of one. Your composure at the beginning of the year was respectable, but I saw your little fit when you found out what Malfoy did to Tracey. If I hadn’t suspected it before, you not reacting to your father’s letter pretty much proved it.” Harry had to mentally applaud her because what else could he do? She personified what it meant to be a Slytherin, if nothing else, and Harry could at least appreciate that.

“I have been, yes.” he admitted, not exactly able to convince her otherwise at this point.

Grace nodded. “How long have you been practicing?”

“Since just after Yule.”

If Grace had put together that Harry must have gotten a gift which enabled him to learn, which he thought she probably had, she didn’t show it. “Have you progressed to the stage of clearing your mind, or are you still in the meditative preparation stage?”

“I can clear my mind.” Harry responded measuredly, not quite knowing where this conversation was heading. 

Grace nodded. “I had thought so, but I needed to be sure. How consistently can you do so?”

Harry blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“If you try and clear your mind ten times, how often do you think you would succeed?”

Harry paused, trying to see if there was something he was missing before he shrugged and decided to be honest. “Ten.”

Resounding silence followed his statement as Grace looked at him in a way that might suggest she was sizing him up. “That is… very impressive. You’re sure you’re not exaggerating?” he nodded and Grace adopted a pensive look. “How quickly can you clear your mind, Harry?”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he thought. “Like… fifteen seconds — maybe closer to ten on a good day.”

Grace just shook her head. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe you,” she said in a very pensive sort of voice, “but that… shouldn’t be possible. As in, that should not be remotely close to possible by using any conventional methods. If you were a prodigy, I would say that maybe you could reach that level by September, and frankly, that is a stretch.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why are you asking this?”

Grace did not react to the question. “You’ll find out in a minute.” she paused. “Would you… mind if I tried to confirm that claim of yours?”

“How would you go about doing that?” Harry asked in a rather cautious tone.

“I would use an extremely light Legilimency probe. Not even enough to glean your surface thoughts, just enough to gauge the overall state of your mind.” she shrugged. “Legilimency honestly isn’t my forte. I am a much better Occlumens than I am a Legilimens, but I’m more than competent enough for this.”

Now, it was Harry’s turn to adopt a pensive look. “I… really don’t like the idea of people poking around inside my head, so I would like to know why you want to do this and why you’re so interested in my ability with Occlumency?”

Grace sighed. “You are the most paranoid child I have ever met in my life, but I suppose I can’t really blame you given… the circumstances.” She gave him a pensive look. “Are you aware of the difference between Passive and Active Occlumency?”

“Passive Occlumency refers to the manipulation of one’s own mind. Active Occlumency refers to the active blocking of psychic breaches and attacks.”

Grace blinked. “That was… well said. Yes, that is the gist of it. Are you aware of the main roadblock to learning Active Occlumency?”

“You need a partner.” Harry said a bit bitterly. Emily had told him this about a week and a half ago, but he had read it long before that in his book on Occlumency from Charlotte. Grace was giving him an odd, expectant look, as if she was waiting for him to put something together. Then, with widened eyes, it clicked. “You want… to teach me Active Occlumency?”

Grace’s expression didn’t change. “That depends on whether or not you accept my proposal, but I’m certainly willing to teach you.”

Harry had to try very hard not to gape at Grace but he managed, if barely. He had no idea how good she was at Occlumency but judging by her general demeanour, implied skill and evident knowledge, Harry would wager that she was quite good. Still, he could not help but be wary. Grace was at the top of Slytherin’s ruthless hierarchy for a reason. “And what do you want in return?” Harry asked, knowing full well that was what this would boil down to.

Grace’s face showed emotion for the first time in minutes and it was… annoyance. “I’ll be frank with you,” she told him, “I’m a bit of a control freak, and I absolutely abhor things that I cannot control.” she paused. “It’s a sort of unwritten rule that the upper years don’t interfere in first year drama.” Harry was so tempted to bite out that she should have told Daniel Selwyn about that rule, but he held his tongue. Then, finally, Grace came out with it. 

“Charlotte is starting Hogwarts this year, and even though she can take care of herself just fine, I worry for her.” It was perhaps the most open thing Grace had ever said in Harry’s presence. “I’m not sure if there is anything in this world that I care for more than Charlotte, and I know that she will be a target because of me, and that I can’t do anything about it without turning every single upper year Slytherin against me in an instant. Which, frankly, wouldn’t take a whole lot given the circumstances.” She fixed Harry with a hard, determined look. “I want you to promise me that you will do anything you can to protect Charlotte this year and for the next few when I’m gone. If you do that, I will do my best to teach you Occlumency.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Assuming I accept,” he said carefully, “what makes you think that I’ll actually be able to protect her even if I try?”

Grace sighed. “Let’s void the mind games, shall we? You are the most gifted student to come through Slytherin since long before me. You somehow managed to set up Malfoy at Samhain and I still don’t know how you did it. You then managed to flip some sort of plan devised by not only Malfoy and Nott, but Andrew Macnair and Daniel Selwyn in a way that backfired horribly on all four of them. Granted, Macnair is incompetent, but Selwyn is very far from it. Your track record speaks for itself, so cut the modesty, will you? If you’re trying to get something else out of me, then make your point.” 

For the first time, Harry realized exactly how Grace and Charlotte were sisters. They were far more alike than Harry had first thought. Grace just buried those similarities under Occlumency and years of well-practiced mental moderation. Now, with her guard down around him for the first time, she switched effortlessly from cold and aloof to blunt and to the point. This was the first time Harry realized how alike the sisters actually were, and he thought himself likely to be one of the few to ever learn of the fact.

“Since you decided to be so honest,” Harry began, “allow me to return the favour. I did manage to flip their plan around, as you and your family have figured out.” Harry bit his cheek, about to say something intensely unpleasant. “I did it through cunning and deception, but if it came to a point where Daniel Selwyn attacked Charlotte directly, I would be no help. I frankly got my arse handed to me when he used a more direct approach and I would have no hope of beating him, or someone of his skill in open combat. Calypso might, but I’d rather not drag my other friends into this little arrangement if I can avoid it.”

There was a long, tense pause that filled the room before Grace spoke very slowly. “For what I’m about to propose, you better be the most dedicated student in all of Hogwarts, since I will not waste my time and I honestly cannot believe I am doing this at all. We will meet two days a week. The days will depend on each of our schedules but on one of those days, I will do my best to teach you Occlumency. On the other, I’ll teach you combat magic.” Harry could not stop the feral grin from spreading across his face and Grace sighed. “And yes, I am well aware that you essentially just played me to get more out of this arrangement. Don’t think you’ve got one over on me for any other reason than the fact that I let you. But honestly, you have a point. If I want you to protect my sister, I can’t help you directly, at least, not unless things get far more serious than I think likely, but I can at least make sure that you do the best job possible.” With a sigh, she extended a hand. “We have a deal then?” she asked, wanting to make sure of the fact.

Harry’s grin switched to a more businesslike demeanour that spoke of resoluteness and promise. “We do. I will do my best to protect your sister, I promise.” He took her hand and they shook firmly. “A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Weitts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **That final line of Harry’s is one I have been waiting to write since long before I wrote the prologue, so it’s nice to finally have it out there.**
> 
> **Two things here before I sign off. Firstly, please have patience with the whole Harry/James dynamic. I can already invision the furious reviews that Harry is even attending the gala, but as I’ve said already, the time for vengeance has not yet arrived. And secondly, for the two of you who reviewed the last chapter saying that it was wholly unnecessary, we can agree to disagree. For one thing, I actually enjoy showing the backstories of characters in order to give them some depth, shoot me, I know. And for two, it will be quite important later in the year, so just have some patience.**
> 
> **Finally, a shoutout to Discord member Haphne Cult Member Paddi for pointing out a slight timing inconsistency in the original draft of this chapter.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 11th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	5. Of Darkness and Defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**July 20, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
9:02 PM** _

Harry and Grace had not practiced any Occlumency that day, as Grace had a rather absurd amount of homework that would prepare her for her N.E.W.T year at Hogwarts, and she wanted to tackle as much of it as possible that day. She did, however, run a weak Legilimency probe through Harry’s mind to validate his claim. To say that she had been surprised by her findings would have been words uttered by somebody with a profound talent for understatement. Amusedly, Harry replayed that moment of revelation in his mind, internallyy commending himself for likely being the only person outside of the Weitts family who had seen Grace more surprised than any other.

Truthfully, Harry hadn’t done a whole lot for the rest of the day. He had Flooed over to Greengrass Manor and spent some time with Daphne, Tracey and Blaise. The latter and his mother would be away vacationing in August, so none of the other three would have an opportunity to spend time with Blaise after that point. As a result, they were trying to make a point of spending time together when possible. After Harry had returned to Weitts Manor and eaten dinner, he simply retreated to the library, in which he read a rather advanced book on Transfiguration. It was true that some of the theory did go over his head, but he honestly felt like he had made some major breakthroughs while reading the tome in question. It was not like his textbooks, which often hinted at the point and allowed the student to figure it out on their own. This one laid it out as it was, if admittedly in rather complex terms.

Now, after spending several hours holed up in the library, Harry slumped back onto his bed and pulled the blank journal towards him before picking up a quill and beginning to write. He did not trust Emily Riddle unconditionally. Very far from it, as a matter of fact, but he did trust her judgement and knowledge in regards to Occlumency.

_So, I have somebody who is willing to teach me Active Occlumency now._

The pause before Emily’s response came wasn’t long. Come to think of it, it was never overly long.

_How interesting. I do hope you trust the person whom you have chosen?_

Harry rubbed his temples thoughtfully. Did he trust Grace? Certainly not unconditionally, but when put into the specific context of their agreement…

_The two of us made a somewhat mutual agreement that will hopefully benefit the both of us. I’m confident that there will be no deceptions._

Harry almost cursed the perfection of Emily’s handwriting when it appeared. It didn’t even look real. It was as if it had been done by a printer in a sleek, elegant font, and not a person at all.

_That’s good to hear. Did she tell you what level of Occlumency or Legilimency she is operating at?_

Harry paused, not quite grasping the question. 

_Level? She did say she was a high level Occlumens but that she was more gifted in Occlumency than she is in Legilimency. I’m not entirely sure if that’s what you mean by “level” though?_

_It is not._ was the initial response before Emily chose to elaborate. _You likely would not have read this, as if your book is as well written as it would appear from an outside perspective, it would likely wait to bring up the finer details. This topic in particular could encourage those foolhardy enough to attempt to rush the process and skip valuable steps, which would in turn be detrimental to their progression and potentially damaging in terms of their livelihood._

Harry frowned. _Aren’t you technically rushing me though? Or “expediting the process”, as you called it?_

_Ah yes, I do like that about you, you know that? You are observant and don’t follow blindly. Keep that mentality and it will take you very far in life. The answer to your question is rather complex, so I will simplify it for both of our sakes. Yes, I am “technically” rushing you through the stages of Occlumency; though this process will not be able to speed you through the other stages quite like it has done the first. In reality, the main, fundamental difference is that I am not skipping steps. I am simply substituting in alternative methods that I have devised and have proven to be far more efficient than those that have been tried and tested by time._

_That… makes sense, I suppose. So what was this about levels?_

_I suppose that in reality, tiers may have been a better word choice, but they are referred to as levels, so that is how I chose to call them. Both Occlumency and Legilimency are seven-tiered systems. There are seven levels to both Occlumency and Legilimency. Each level centers around one or two major components that must be mastered before you can safely advance any further. Within all of these levels, there are subskills of a sort. For example, you will eventually be able to open thought streams within your mind, allowing you to devote your entire focus to multiple trains of thought simultaneously. That is just one of several examples I could give. These skills do not need to be learned to advance, but if you would like my help and value my opinion, you will be learning all of them._

Harry shrugged. It made sense to him and honestly, he would have wanted to learn all of them anyway, so this arrangement was perfectly fine by him. _I’m assuming that I would be a level one Occlumens, then?_

_You would be, though you are very near to advancing to the second level. Do not celebrate this too proudly, for the levels get exponentially more difficult and monotonous to advance through as you continue to progress. Level one is about understanding your mind. It is why much of it is meditative. By the end of level one, an Occlumens will know their mind well enough that they will be able to sense any irregularities. The exception to this would be a particularly skilled practitioner of Legilimency. Now, it does not mean that they will be able to rid themselves of said irregularity, but they will almost always be able to recognize it. Admittedly, it will often take the mental examination of one’s mind to do so for quite some time before the instinct becomes subconscious._

Harry’s brow furrowed. _What are the focuses of all of the other levels?_

_All in good time, Harry — all in good time._

Harry sighed. _So is developing a defense against Legilimency not a level one skill?_

_That depends on the context of the word “defense”. You will learn to sense a Legilimency probe. It should give you enough time to at least break eye contact, but level one is more about understanding. I personally believe that you could potentially advance to level two of Occlumency by the end of September. Possibly even the end of the summer, depending on how adept your tutor is._

_Should I ask what level of Occlumens she is?_

_It is a… grey area, shall we say? There is no board of examiners that examine and grade a person’s level of proficiency. Most people will at least have a rough idea, but unless they are being taught by someone of fairly exceptional prowess who can run tests for them, they cannot be completely sure._

Harry frowned. _How will I know when to advance to the next level then?_

_Well, my hope would be that your tutor would know, but you will answer all of my questions with one-hundred percent honesty and allow me to be the judge of that._

Harry could not help but allow a small, thin smile to tease the corners of his lips. It was so odd having an adult genuinely helping him so freely. And the fact that she was a seemingly incessant fountain of magical knowledge wasn’t exactly a downside either.

_**July 24, 1992  
An Undisclosed Location  
2:24 PM** _

Charlus would have groaned if he had not just had all of the air forcefully ripped from his body by whatever purple spell had struck him hard in the midsection. He sunk to his knees as his wand was torn from his hands by yet another spell. He was far too dignified, or simply too stubborn to curl into a fetal position, but how his body wanted to do just that. This was now Charlus’s fourth lesson with Mister Bellona, and according to the man, or woman, or whomever or whatever lurked under that creepily perfect disguise, Charlus had been utterly useless when they had started. Personally, Charlus found that evaluation to be rather harsh, but he did not dare argue with Mister Bellona on that point. He learned very early on that arguing only ended poorly, and though he thought his methods mildly inhumane at times and positively arcane otherwise, Charlus could not deny that his instructor had been nothing short of brilliant!

Admittedly, much of the practices had been rather boring thus far. He had absolutely no base with which his instructor could work with, so naturally, Mister Bellona had been left no choice but to teach Charlus from the ground up, basic fundamentals and all. The format of Mister Bellona’s lessons were pretty similar. The first half an hour would be spent duelling. More precisely, it would be Charlus trying to last as long as he could while Mister Bellona beat him easily every single time without putting in any real effort. After this, they would spend an hour doing what Mister Bellona referred to as the “core work”. This meant that whatever the primary focus of the lesson was, be it spells or techniques, they would dedicate that full hour to that practice. 

Once that hour had dwindled, they would spend the remaining half an hour of their lesson going over tactics and strategies. Oftentimes, it seemed that his instructor would break down Charlus’s mistakes during their mock duels and give in-depth analysis on how he could have better prepared and reacted for each situation. Other times, he would present Charlus with a real-world situation and ask him how he would deal with said situation. At least half of the time, this would end with Charlus feeling rather foolish, as Mister Bellona often presented very simple ways in which the conflict could either be outright avoided or ended with as little fuss as possible. Charlus, on the contrary, often proposed the most direct and flamboyant method possible and when he did so, he was sure that if he could see his tutor’s face, there would be a disapproving sneer plastered across it that would be worthy of either Snape or Malfoy.

“That will suffice.” Mister Bellona’s smooth, sophisticated drawl informed Charlus, prompting him to unsteadily rise from the floor. That was yet another thing he had learned quite early on during this student/mentor relationship. Showing weakness was not an option — ever. As Mister Bellona put it, his enemies would not give him the option, so why should he? Internally, Charlus actually agreed with this philosophy, harsh as it was. He had already learned that the hard way down in the catacombs of Hogwarts just weeks earlier. “I will be teaching you a spell today.” Mister Bellona told him. “Your fundamentals are shaky, but they are firmly enough in place that you can and will hone them on your own time.” Charlus nodded hurriedly; he would actually put time into it on his own. “For the remainder of our weekly sessions, which I think will increase to two per week in August, if you are able, I will be teaching you actual magic.” 

Charlus had to try hard not to gape. “You’ll be teaching me twice a week-“ but he paused when Mister Bellona’s wand flicked towards him and a hot whip seemed to lash across his face, causing him to stagger. It was nothing compared to the curse he had endured during their first lesson, but it was still distinctly unpleasant.

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.” the instructor told him. “It is counterproductive and wastes both of our time. In battle, the only time such questions are appropriate are when you are stalling for time. Now,” he continued, turning to the line of dummies Charlus had used for target practice, “we will practice something… impactful, shall we? Let us call it an early birthday gift, of sorts.” The man’s wand snapped up and he deliberately drew the slash out in the air. The wand movement was unnecessary for him and it had been so for many years, but it was an apt way of teaching, he thought. 

“Lacero.”

A dark purple blur, nearly imperceptible to the human eye, seemed to escape from the figure’s wand when he drawled the word, rolling the L in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. The dummy that the advanced cutting curse slammed into promptly lost the leg that the curse had impacted. 

It did not repair itself.

“You will find that these targets react in the way a human being may do so. That curse’s damage will not be healed naturally by the human body, though it is of course possible to heal the damage through the use of magic.”

“But s-sir? Isn’t that d-dar-“ but he did not finish. The same curse from his first lesson promptly washed over him and Charlus wanted to rip this man’s or woman’s throat out as the pain took him over. The fact that he knew he could do absolutely nothing made it all the worse. He had no hope of hurting the figure and as a result of the strict oaths he had willingly and knowingly entered into, he could tell nobody with the ability to do a thing about it.

“I will not tell you again!” the figure told him sharply. “There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil, only power, and the intent with which it is wielded. The fact that the target did not reconstruct leads you to believe the spell is dark but in actuality, it simply means it is practical. If you are not willing to use spells that are actually useful in combat, we will cease these lessons at once and I will discard you as yet another lost cause. Is that your final choice?”

“N-n-no, sir.” Charlus said as vehemently as he could manage in his current state, hastily scrambling up to his feet as he did so.

And on they went for the next nearly hour and a half. Charlus had quite a bit of trouble with this curse. Apparently, he needed to conjure up a certain amount of negative emotion for this spell to be successful, and he was struggling to do that while still focusing on the spell. Mister Bellona had been surprisingly complimentary of his attempt and had even assured him that he had rarely taught anyone who mastered the spell on their first day. As a result of this, by the time Charlus left, his mood had been mildly lifted.

When he left, the man, for it was indeed a man under the grey cloak, waited several minutes in the room for what he knew was to come next. Then, less than five minutes later, the same portkey that Charlus Potter used to arrive for each and every lesson deposited the man who always brought the boy back to and from each and every lesson in front of him. “Wormtail,” Mister Bellona greeted before slowly, he reached up and lowered his hood, revealing well-kept golden blonde hair, soft yet sharp aristocratic features with an obvious undertone of danger and deep, blue eyes. “It has been so long. I must admit, I found it rather insulting when you did not have the time for such a chat after the last number of sessions I most graciously conducted for my old friend’s godson.”

Peter just smiled easily back at the man. “Oh, you know I’d have made time for you if I could have. It’s been quite difficult getting this exact time off each week, let alone making sure James doesn’t get this exact time off.”

The man known as Mister Bellona nodded his understanding. “Quite understandable, Pettigrew. It would be most unfortunate if James Potter strolled into my home now, wouldn’t it?”

“Quite,” Peter agreed, focusing a more interested stare on the man who still wore the grey cloak, “so tell me, old friend, how is my godson progressing in relation to the plan?”

A soft, cruel smile made itself present on Mister Bellona’s lips, “Ah, he is doing quite well. He is a stubborn child filled with idiocy, false morality, and overall foolish beliefs but I believe that by the end of the summer, all shall be in place for your rather ingenious little plan to begin to unfold.”

The smile that was now resting on Peter Pettigrew’s face was far more reminiscent of an expression typical of a starved rodent who had found food at long last as oppose to a person. “Splendid!”

_**July 25, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
8:34 AM** _

Harry finished reading the draft of James Potter’s proposed contract and swiftly realized that the attention of the entire table was fixated on him. This morning, Sigmund was actually joining them, and the extra set of eyes only served to amplify the intensity of the gazes fixed upon him.

He looked at each member of the Weitts family in turn and shrugged. “I don’t really know what you’re expecting,” he admitted, “but honestly, a lot of this went way over my head. I’m not a lawyer.” he frowned. “Actually, come to think of it, is that even what they’re called in the magical world?”

“Solicitor would be more apt.” Sigmund told him, eyeing the offending contract with poorly hidden curiosity. “May I?” Harry handed it over without much thought. It wasn’t really like Sigmund could actually do damage of any kind and it was true that he would have a far higher probability of piecing together the intricacies of said contract than Harry.

There was about five minutes in which nobody spoke. Then, as he handed the contract back to Harry, Sigmund broke the rather tense silence. “This looks perfectly in order to me. I’m not a solicitor, but I’d like to think that I’d have picked out any blatant issues. I can have it sent to our family solicitor, if you’d like.” he paused. “Actually, I would strongly recommend it.”

Harry frowned. “How much will that cost?” he asked a bit nervously. “I… don’t exactly have free access to my family’s vault.” He didn’t really have any access at all, but if the Weitts family had not deduced this yet, he had no intention of enlightening them in regards to the fact.

Adriana waved her hand. “Don’t worry about the cost,” she told Harry, “we’ll cover it.” His eyes widened in surprise but by now, he knew better than to second guess Adriana Weitts. She was an extremely deliberate woman who only spoke when she was very sure of what she was saying.

“Thank you.” Harry said, trying to convey his genuine gratitude through his expression and words alone. He hoped that the soft smile that Adriana sent back his way was confirmation that he had succeeded, but he couldn’t be sure.

_**July 26, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
10:21 AM** _

Harry had asked that morning about broomsticks. More specifically, how hard they were to get a hold of. When he had asked that question, he had certainly not expected Adriana to mention offhandedly that they had an array of broomsticks in storage. Even then, he was still taken aback to find Cleansweap 10s, probably the best broom in the world aside from Nimbus’s most recent models. Better still, Adriana had told him to use the broomsticks whenever he wanted, just to make sure he wasn’t doing anything beyond what he was comfortable with.

So that’s how Harry found himself on the front lawn of the manor with a state-of-the-art racing broom in his hand and a gleam in his eye. Finally, he would be able to fly freely, without the imposed restraints of Madam Hooch to hold him back. 

As he kicked off and shot straight up into the air faster than he had ever done so before, Harry exalted in the feeling more than he had thought possible. Even on what he had then thought may very well have been the brink of death under the school in June, Harry had taken intense pleasure in chasing down the key on the broken, battered Hogwarts broom. Now, as he streaked through the air and did a lap of the manor at a frankly preposterous speed, Harry felt as though he may have just found the greatest feeling in the world. Feeling bold, he inverted and dove straight towards the ground as if chasing a snitch. He did not come super close to brushing his toes up against the grass as a professional seeker in a desperate, death-defying dive may attempt, but he dove far more boldly than any relative beginner should dare to dive. 

As he pulled up, Harry privately wished he had a mirror to gaze into. He doubted that the grin that currently adorned his features had ever been matched in his eleven plus years of life, and it was an element of the moment that he wished to truly see for himself.

_**July 30, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
8:43 AM** _

After his morning Occlumency exercises and a quick chat with Emily on a potion in the late second year portion of his textbook, Harry quickly dressed and made his way down into the Weitts family’s immaculate dining room. Upon entering, he froze with absolute shock as a wave of sound accosted him. Only through the use of Occlumency did he not flinch back from it, but as soon as he realized the source and context, his face split into a rare, unguarded smile.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!”

There, in the dining room were not only Sigmund, Adriana, Grace and Charlotte, but also Blaise, Tracey, Daphne and the Greengrass parents, as well as Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria. 

Occlumency be damned, Harry positively gaped at the lot of them. Never in all of his life had he even had anybody celebrate his birthday. If not for the Potter Gala he would be attending tomorrow, he likely would not have even remembered the fact that his birthday was tomorrow. As it was, he honestly expected an obligatory gift or two at the gala, but he never thought he would truly have people to celebrate his birthday with.

“This is the most surprised that I have ever seen you.” Daphne said when Harry worked his way to the table, thanking all of them as graciously as he could manage in his current state as he went. “With all that happened this last year,” she whispered so nobody else could hear, “that’s saying a lot.”

Harry shot her an almost sheepish smile. “It’s the little things that count, Daphne.”

That day was one of the more enjoyable days that Harry had partaken in over the past year of his life. He didn’t even bother to internalize the rest, because he knew full well with no thought on the matter that nothing before his trip to Diagon Alley last summer would have a chance at comparing to, let alone topping this. 

The friends didn’t do a whole lot, not really, anyway. They played chess, talked, and lazed around the grounds. By the time dinner had come, the mood in the house was high and by the time it was over and Harry was presented with more presents than he’d have ever guessed he would receive in his life, jubilant may have been a more apt description for the mood.

He received sweets and customary tokens from most of his fellow Slytherin yearmates. To his amusement, even Malfoy had sent him something, though Harry suspected that may have only happened due to some… nudging from his parents. As a matter of fact, the dress shoes sent by the Malfoys were rather nice, and probably extremely expensive to boot.

Blaise had gotten Harry a stylish pair of shoes too, but when Harry read the note, conveniently not aloud, it was only then that he recognized the true value of the gift. The shoes would mask any and all noise Harry’s feet made while moving. With his ring hiding him from sight and the shoes making him auditorily undetectable, Harry thought exploring the castle at night may very well be a go this year.

The Carrow twins had each bought him a gift, which Harry honestly had not expected. He thought they would have simply split on one gift. Hestia had sent him a book on Ancient Runes. She must have remembered Harry borrowing her Runic Dictionary all those months ago. Coincidentally, a Runic Dictionary was exactly what Flora had sent him. Cassius, who seemed to be a bit of a history nut if his other present and constant talks about history were anything to go off of, had sent him a very old book called The Unfiltered Evolution of Magical Britain. Calypso, as expected, had also opted for a book. Hers was more practical. It was a book filled with some rather… questionable curses.

Next, Harry opened the Greengrasses’ gift and his eyes widened. At a glance, it wouldn’t seem like much, just a bunch of parchment. Upon a further inspection, however, one may have realized that it was in fact a contract already signed by the Greengrass family and another woman named Veronica Tate. According to Cyrus, it was a five year contract that would see Tate locked in as Harry’s solicitor and the costs would be covered by the Greengrasses. Harry actually didn’t know how to respond to that and had to hold back his emotions as he signed his own name with a blood quill to bind the contract. Clearly, they had no intentions of letting him return to Privet Drive, and that alone meant the world to him.

Tracey’s gift too did not appear much more than a book on the surface. Then, when one examined it, they might realize that it was a book on wizarding families of the southwest UK. According to Tracey, this region didn’t contain many families, so the author went into considerable detail on each. His family was one of the main features of the book. If they were not in public, Harry might have actually considered hugging Tracey.

Finally, he got to the Weitts’s gift and was yet again taken aback. In the package was another contract. This one, however, with his signature, would make him the holder of his own personal Gringotts vault. This vault would see a rather large sum of money transferred into it from the Weitts family vault upon his signature. By no means would it set him up for life or anything, but with that being said, it may be enough to purchase himself a small property and it would certainly get him through his Hogwarts years comfortably. Attached too, was an ankle band that would serve as a portkey directly to Weitts Manor.

“In case… certain individuals decide to meddle.” was the justification Adriana had given him. Privately, Harry was baffled as to how his relationship with the Weitts family had developed so quickly, but all in all, this was very easily the best birthday of his life — even if his birthday was not technically until the next day.

_**July 31, 1992  
Potter Manor  
12:00 PM** _

Harry arrived at Potter Manor via his portkey at the exact time the festivities were set to begin. As the Heir of House Potter, he didn’t think he could get away with being fashionably late to a charity event such hosted by his own family. With that being said, he had absolutely no desire to arrive any earlier than was strictly necessary. He did not want to be in the same room as his father at the moment. That was not even accounting for the possibility of Dumbledore turning up. If that happened, he would have to maintain a firm and constant grip on his Occlumency to prevent the temptation to curse him in the back.

Harry’s family home seemed to be set in a vast clearing in the middle of what appeared to be endless forestry on all sides. The home itself was four stories tall and made mostly out of rich, dark woods with bright accents. The wood had a reddish tinge and the accents were gold in many places. The fact that even Harry’s home was done in Gryffindor colours was something that Harry was not sure how to feel about, but he simply dismissed the fact as he made his way towards the manor. The festivities would start with lunch, and would then open up for some socializing. Politicking was probably more accurate, but socializing was the official order of business. After an hour or so of this, they would get to the presentation of gifts for Charlus, all of which would be donated to the Charlus Potter Charitable Fund. Harry figured he’d have a few in there as well, but he wasn’t overly bothered. After that, James would formally present Harry with his Heir’s ring to end the day on a positive note in regards to publicity. 

All of this ran through Harry’s mind as he made his way towards the large front doors of Potter Manor, which were left wide open to admit all of the guests. Harry made sure to straighten his posture just a little bit more and stand just a little bit taller as he made his appearance. 

About ten steps into the rather splendid entryway, Harry’s resolve was tested for the first time. There was James Potter, greeting guests and shaking hands and beside him, Charlus, smiling charmingly up at all of the adults who looked upon him with awestruck adoration. Harry had to try very hard not to sneer. It was foolish enough that the wizarding world had made a messiah out of a child. It was another level of foolishness when you considered the fact that Charlus had simply existed to earn that title. When considering the vital bit of context that Harry knew in regards to how it happened, the levels of idiocy raised still further. Granted, the rest of the wizarding world did not know that in reality, it had essentially been Lily Potter who had defeated Voldemort. Still, Harry found it pathetic how they all flocked to Charlus like sheep. If anyone should have been celebrated as a result of that night, it was their mother.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one’s viewpoint, James chose that moment to spot Harry and his face broke out into a look of relief. Harry could have rolled his eyes. Surely his father had not been foolish enough to think he wouldn’t show up just to spite him? As deliciously savage as that image was, it was also the exact opposite of beneficial to Harry. If James had thought that to be a serious possibility, he really did not know the first thing about Slytherin House. 

On one hand, James spotting Harry was fortunate because it did break him out of his rather dark contemplations. On another, this now meant that he would have to play nice with his father and brother in public, which was something he was distinctly not looking forward to.

“Harry!” James greeted with a rather shocking amount of enthusiasm. It was only years of practicing the art of smiling charmingly back at people who Harry had actively despised that allowed him to plaster a warm, content smile on his face as he made his way towards his father, ignoring how cameras flashed as he did so. Doubtlessly, the Daily Prophet would be covering Charlus Potter’s birthday and doubtlessly, they would want the scoop on the forsaken Potter Heir. 

“Father.” Harry greeted in a polite voice that could easily pass as cheerful. Granted, he did not put anywhere near the same amount of jubilance into his voice as James had done moments earlier. For one, it was just not an image he was looking to portray and for two, forcing the smile was straining enough. If he tried to overdo this, he might truly go mental.

There was a very awkward moment when James very obviously was meant to hug Harry for the camera but very obviously thought better of it. Harry wondered whether James himself had been observant enough to come to that conclusion, or whether Pettigrew or someone else had gone and whispered secrets in his ear. In the end, the Lord and Heir of House Potter settled for a firm handshake and for James to pat Harry on the back, a motion that Harry tried very hard not to react to. It was bad enough that anyone was touching him. It was far worse still that it was the father who had allowed the old codger to ship him back to Privet Drive. 

Harry had hoped he would pass largely unnoticed at the gala by allowing James and Charlus to cast him in their shadow. It became very evident very early that was not going to happen at all when James politely insisted Harry stay to greet the guests. It was not for more than an hour later that everybody make their way outside into the vast courtyard and pick seats at the many tables. Harry found himself sitting beside his brother, who had yet to say a word to him outside of the obligatory greeting. In fact, Charlus was sneaking covert, angry glares at Harry whenever he had the chance, and Harry’s raised eyebrow each time clearly was not doing his brother’s temper any favours. Aside from themselves, at the ten person table, there was James, Pettigrew, and according to James’s introductions, Susan and Amelia Bones, as well as Neville and Augusta Longbottom. Of course, Harry knew the Longbottom Heir on sight, but he had been ignorant as to the rest of the guests. The two final chairs did not remain empty for long, as about a minute later, two figures began to make their way towards them. When the two of them came close enough to become distinguishable, Harry could have sworn allowed at the man on the left.

‘Of fucking course it’s Dumbledore.’

“Good afternoon,” Dumbledore greeted the table enthusiastically, “I am sorry for my tardiness, but I did have most urgent business to attend to with our dear Minister here before arriving.” 

Then, with a jolt, Harry realized who the man standing beside Dumbledore was. He was thin and of average height but had sharp, intelligent features, dark eyes, greying hair and a moustache of the same colour. 

It was Barty Crouch Senior, the Minister of Magic.

“Minister!” James said with what was a decent attempt at surprise, drawing the attention of the entire courtyard as he quickly got to his feet to shake the man’s hand. When Charlus stood too, Harry was suddenly not at all sure if he was supposed to join them. To his great surprise, it was Dumbledore who caught his eye and gave the most subtle of nods. Harry would never be grateful for the man in any sense. He was a bastard who Harry despised with all of his being at the moment, but an infinitesimally small part of him was grateful for his existence in that exact, precise moment in time. Taking his queue and internally cursing James for leaving him to hang and dry, Harry swept to his feet, mentally adding lessons in politics as something that needed to happen at some point. There was only so much one could learn of such an art from books.

When Crouch had finished shaking hands with James and Charlus, his dark eyes turned towards Harry and there was… something in his eyes. Coldness? Dislike? “Ah yes,” he said and when he spoke, his voice was perhaps a bit clipped, but still certainly polite, “Heir Potter, at long last.”

Harry smiled disarmingly at Crouch in a way that unknowingly put the man instantly even more on edge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Minister.” Harry said in the closest thing he could conjure to awe. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had told Crouch tales about him or if he was one of those who held a notorious dislike for anything and everything Slytherin. That would be something to research at a later date. 

“Likewise, Heir Potter.” Crouch’s lie was convincing and effortless, but Harry knew it was nothing more than that — a lie. After all, Crouch had not reached the pinnacle of wizarding politics without becoming a proficient liar over the years. In Harry’s estimation, such a thing would have been impossible.

There was companionable conversation made at the Potter’s table throughout the entirety of the meal. Harry stayed quiet for most of it, but was occasionally dragged into the conversation. He would have just talked with Neville, but they were at opposite ends of the table. As a result, Harry had managed to do little more than return the boy’s glances with a nod and a smile.

Finally, when the meal had ended, Harry obediently trailed behind James and Charlus for what was about two hours, but what actually felt like two days. Harry met dozens of important people in the process, but very few of them stuck out to him. They were all faces in the crowd, for the most part. It was very clear that James had been extremely selective in regards to who could and who could not attend this event. In translation, if you were not an explicitly “light” family, you were out. Finally, they met Madam Marchbanks, the Head of the Ministry’s Board of Education, and before they could break off that conversation to turn to the throng of people gathered around them, she directed a question at Harry that took him a bit off guard.

“May I ask you a question that may confirm a rumour I have been hearing, Heir Potter?” For a second, Harry feared she was referring to him and Charlus’s confrontation with Voldemort. Then, the logical part of his brain realized there was no way she could have known about that.

Once he had come to that realization, he smiled charmingly back at her. “Of course, Lady Marchbanks.” 

“I have not yet checked the public records to validate the rumour, but I had heard your end of year grades were rather remarkable?” She had clearly set Harry up to boast, but he didn’t. He would not be a braggart today. If she asked him explicitly what his grades were, he would answer her, but he did not want to be the one to flaunt it in front of the media. He was no politician, but he had enough common sense to know that was not a good idea. “I had heard, even, that you had received several O+’s?”

At this, the throng of people gathered around their little group hushed, suddenly nearly as interested in the Potter Heir as they were The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry saw Charlus’s eye twitch and suddenly knew that his brother was intensely annoyed that the center of attention had shifted away from him. “That’s correct, Lady Marchbanks.” Harry said politely, doing his best to draw this exchange out for the sole purpose of annoying his brother. Perhaps it was vindictive, but Harry needed something interesting to happen today.

Lady Marchbanks’s greying brow raised. “Is it in fact true that you managed THREE O+’s, Mister Potter?”

Muttering followed her statement and Harry waited for it to finish, revelling in the look of surprise that showed on Charlus’s face an instant before his jaw tightened in irritation. Only when the muttering ceased completely did Harry answer. “Yes, Lady Marchbanks.”

“In which subjects?” she asked before the muttering could interrupt them once more.

“Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against The Dark Arts.” Harry answered casually, as if this was no big deal at all. The crowd around them clearly knew exactly how big of a deal this was, as the muttering suddenly was turned up to eleven. 

Of course, if one was being realistic, first year grades really weren’t that important in the grand scheme of things. But still, for a student to receive three of a mark that many people could not fathom was certainly worthy of some attention.

“What were your performances?” somebody called out and Harry realized only after glancing in their general direction that the question had been asked by a reporter.

“I’m sorry,” he answered in an excellent imitation of an apologetic tone of voice, “but that’s information I would rather keep private.” 

“Can you show us some magic?” somebody else asked. “Some of the things you might have done?”

Suddenly, Harry realized he had been backed into a corner. Unless his father outright told the crowd that he would not allow it, something Harry thought was unlikely, Harry was trapped. He could either back down and look like he was a liar, something he absolutely would not want associated with his name. Or, he could risk showing how advanced he really was. He would have to shoot for somewhere in the middle, though that balance would be difficult to find.

“I’m not sure-“ James started, but he was cut off by another voice just as he started speaking and once again, Harry had to curse the name of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

“Come now, James.” Dumbledore said in a grandfatherly manner, stepping into the circle of onlookers with his legendary twinkle turned up to eleven. “We are in a controlled environment where we can all assure your son’s displays do not get out of hand. It would not be proper to dismiss the frenzy of the media, would it?”

The worst part about the situation was that Harry sort of just had to tip his metaphorical hat to Dumbledore. It was clever. Dumbledore knew very little of Harry and clearly did not trust him in some regard. If he wanted to put out feelers or potentially get a read on where Harry may be at, this was an excellent way to do it. Now even more than before, Harry would have to be very careful in striking a comfortable middle ground.

“I… suppose if my father’s ok with it.” he answered diplomatically, realizing that the stares of the entire crowd were upon him. 

In front of the entire crowd, Harry performed the end of year exams flawlessly. He did not do too much extra, just enough to pop the crowd. He made his tea cup’s dancing routine particularly elaborate. He transfigured the mouse into a snuff box embroidered with the Potter family crest. And for defense, he performed several low level jinxes and hexes perfectly that were called out by the crowd. The entire time, it was blatantly obvious that Charlus was becoming more and more annoyed. Only when somebody asked him to transfigure a matchstick into a needle did Charlus lose his temper.

“Yeah, because that’s really impressive.” he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, those nearest him in the crowd had heard him and promptly insisted he join. Now, Harry suddenly had a competition on his hand and all plans went out the window. Dumbledore and the press be damned, here was a chance to outdo his brother in public. He was not going to pass this up, even if he had to go a bit above and beyond what he had planned to do.

Charlus went first, transforming the matchstick into a needle with very little effort. Then, Harry went next. Instead of a simple silver needle, he added subtle but noticeable green accents, something which clearly annoyed Charlus. Before anybody could call out anything else, Charlus untransfigured the needle back into a matchstick and made his next needle bright red, glaring at Harry as he did so. The crowd were muttering as Harry smirked back at his brother and transfigured his now untransfigured matchstick into a green needle with silver trim and intricate snake carvings. Charlus set his jaw and transfigured a needle twice the size of what it should have been in Gryffindor colours with the Potter family crest displayed prominently on the needle. 

The crowd actually applauded Charlus at this, who smirked victoriously back at Harry just as Harry caught James beaming at his son with unmasked pride. Now, just when people thought Charlus had won, Harry would stop holding back and end this once and for all. He waited for the crowd to be completely quiet before, making sure to keep eye contact with his brother the entire time and keeping a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, Harry tapped his wand against the matchstick.

“Avifors.” 

Instead of simply transfiguring the matchstick into a needle, Harry pulled out a second year spell — sort of. The second year expectation would be for him to use a large plate and conjure one or two birds. The reason for this was that it would allow the student to work at transfiguring a set amount of matter into less matter than what was originally there. In the simplest terms, transfiguring something large into something smaller or of less matter was easy. Transfiguring something small, like a matchstick, into something that contained far more matter, like a flock of birds, was far more difficult. It was at least third year material, but that didn’t stop Harry from doing it seemingly without effort, actually drawing gasps and loud, ringing applause from the crowd. Honestly, Harry didn’t much care about any of that.

The only thing he cared about was the furious, yet horrorstruck expression on his brother’s face. Harry had outdone him and it could not be disputed. Not only that, but he had done it in front of Charlus’s “adoring public” and that had made it all the more sweet.

Luckily for Charlus’s dignity, his father chose that precise moment to step in, which, to Harry, only signified blatant favouritism. He told the crowd loudly and excitedly that they should move onto the opening of the twins’ gifts.

This ordeal took quite a long period of time, especially because Charlus was expected to thank each person grandiosely in front of everybody. Harry hadn’t been briefed on that part, shockingly, but he went with the flow and essentially copied his brother. The presentation of his Heir’s Ring was much simpler. All he had to do was step forward, let his father put the ring on his finger and smile for the cameras. That actually wasn’t hard, because there was an odd feeling of magic that had washed over him and if there was one thing Harry loved in this world, it was magic.

He thought it went alright, and by the time it had all ended and he, James, Pettigrew and Charlus were seeing people off, Harry actually thought the day as a whole had gone well. As soon as everybody had left, Harry told his father politely but curtly he would be leaving and though James looked rather pained and sour, he acquiesced. Harry figured he’d had a speech of some sort planned, but Harry was in no mood to hear it at the moment.

Before he left the house and portkeyed out, he was stopped one final time.

“Harry.”

When he turned, he made sure he looked upon Pettigrew with the most innocent look of curiosity. He had no idea what it was about Pettigrew that unsettled him and put him on edge, but he didn’t trust him — not even a little bit. “What is it, Peter?”

Pettigrew smiled at him and winked before pulling a package from his robes and handing it to Harry. “I know I gave you a gift for show that will be donated and all that, but I thought I’d get you something a bit more… personal. It’s something I do each year for Charlus”

Harry smiled back at Pettigrew. “Thanks, Peter. I appreciate it.” he paused. “Do you want me to open it now?”

Peter waved his hand. “Nah, open it back at wherever you’re staying.” he smiled. “Well, it’s been great catching up with you and I’m sorry I can’t talk more. I’ve got to go help your dad out with some things, but don’t be a stranger, alright? If you ever need anything, anything at all,” he paused, “even help with your dad, just let me know. I’m always here for you.” he winked once more. “Happy birthday, Harry.” And with that, the man left, allowing Harry to portkey back to Weitts Manor with a number of thoughts in his mind.

Only when he had returned to the comfort of his room and called a house elf to check the package for curses and the like did he open it. He could have asked Grace, Adriana or Sigmund to do it, but he felt as if whatever was in this box should be kept to himself.

He was right.

There were two large books within the fairly heavy package and a note. First, Harry scanned the title of both books and his eyebrows rose. One was Descent Into Darkness: A Beginner’s Guide To The Dark Arts. The other was Light or Dark: The Truth. Harry furrowed his brow. Why on earth was Peter Pettigrew giving him a book on dark magic? Moreover, another book that seemed to discuss the whole “light and dark” magic debate? The only motive he could think of was to somehow set Harry up to get caught with them. Unfortunately for Pettigrew, Harry would be keeping these in a trunk protected with a chosen password — one that he had elected to speak in Parseltongue, and he would not be showing them to anyone anytime soon.

Still, there was a part of Harry who thought that was too obvious and that Pettigrew had a deeper, more sinister motive. Again, he didn’t even know why he distrusted Pettigrew, he just… did. Unfortunately for Harry, as interesting as the attached note was, it did not help any with his internal dilemma.

_Harry,  
Happy Birthday!_

_I know this summer’s been a bit rubbish for you and frankly, I wish James would have talked to me before just caving to Dumbledore. James grew up a spoiled little boy and I don’t think he really understands what it’s like to grow up in a household like yours. One of these days, maybe I’ll break his habit of following Dumbledore blindly. That’s why I plan on telling you to contact me anytime you need help — even if it involves your dad. He’s a good man, but he doesn’t see things clearly sometimes._

_Oh, and speaking of that, I’m sorry about Charlus. He’ll come around, but what happened at the end of last year left some marks. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re going dark, which is exactly why I’m giving you these books. They’re both dead useful if they’re not abused, but I trust you’ll only use them in the appropriate way._

_Good catching up with you again and a final happy birthday from your favourite uncle!_  
Cheers,  
Peter 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I tried to learn from my mistake with Harry’s initial meeting with James in the chapter “Samhain Part I” from first year. I hyped up that meeting far too much considering its contents. I knew going in that the gala would be significant, but not massively so. As such, I tried not to raise your guys’ expectations to unrealistically high levels.**
> 
> **I do hope I succeeded and that you all enjoyed the chapter.**
> 
> **Bonus points to anyone who can piece together Peter’s plan.**
> 
> **In regards to the system of mind magic in this story. I will be using a system similar to the one in The Sinister Man’s “Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin”.**
> 
> **The problem with mind magic is that literally every idea under the sun has been done. With that in mind, I figured I may as well use the system that I think is the best. I would seriously recommend reading “Prince of Slytherin”, as I honestly think it’s the best HP fanfic out there at present and if you enjoy this one, I am sure you will enjoy that one.**
> 
> **I will be making quite a few additions and changes to his mind arts system, particularly in the actual theory behind it, but it is my foundation and much will be the same.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 18th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	6. Emotions and Enigmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**August 1, 1992  
Knockturn Alley  
1:54 AM** _

Mundungus Fletcher was rather rudely awakened from his position, sleeping and sprawled out behind one of the many dilapidated shops that were dotted all through the sketchier side of the alley. He had only vague recollections of laying down here at all. Seeing as he had been drinking last night, such a thing was not overly surprising. Unfortunately, this meant that he woke up with quite the nasty hangover and as a result, quite the unpleasant mood. Mundungus had half a mind to curse the pricks who had woken him up, but when he spotted the two figures standing near him, all of those instincts were wiped clean from his mind.

Both of the figures were massive. Probably about six and a half feet tall and built like tanks. Beyond that, nothing of their appearances could be discerned, for they each wore long, black cloaks that covered their bodies and had their hoods pulled up over their heads. That meant that in the darkness brought on by the dead of night, Mundungus had no idea who his visitors were. Well, not who they were exactly, but he had a good idea as to why they were here.

“Does your boss have another job for old Dung?” Mundungus asked a bit hoarsely. It had been awhile since he had spoken to anybody at all and his voice did not seem to be eager to comply with the demands of his brain. He had seen these two figures before. After all, they stood out rather plainly, even without having ever seen their faces. Truthfully, Mundungus didn’t care for either of them, but their boss paid well, which was all he could really ask.

“He does.” the one on the right said in a deep, strong voice. “This job’ll be complicated though, so take it or leave it.”

Mundungus grunted and rolled his eyes. “How complicated we talkin’?” he asked, beady eyes narrowing upon the two of them. In hushed whispers, the two figures told Mundungus exactly what his job was and he simply stared back at them with widened eyes before shaking his head.

“Sorry boys,” Mundungus told them, “no can do that one. That’s a bloody difficult one. I dunno if I’ve even got the resources to pull it off. And that’s not even talkin’ about the risks and-“

“Are you not going to ask for the take before turning it down?” the other man grunted, sounding surprised, baffled, even.

Mundungus rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is, it ain’t worth the time.” he paused. “Jus’... jus’ for fun though, go on and humour me.” When the number had been spoken aloud, Mundungus’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. He had never heard of a shady job paying out that much and absentmindedly, Mundungus wondered who the hell was forking out that kind of cash. He would be doubtful, but this mysterious acquaintance of his had never failed to pay up thus far and had even thrown in a bonus on his last job. Still, this one would be difficult, if not impossible. But then again, that money could keep him in a rented flat for years, let alone quench his rather destructive desires. 

With a dramatic sigh one may expect from somebody who was about to agree to something very foolish, Mundungus slowly pushed himself into a sitting position and eyed the two gorilla-like men in front of him with an almost exasperated look. “Alright, alright — I’ll do it.”

_**August 1, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
9:13 AM** _

Harry entered the Weitts family dining room later than normal on the Sunday following the birthday gala. He had begun to read up on Ancient Runes with the help of the expansive family library at his disposal and had become rather entranced by his current reading. The fact that he would have to learn several ancient languages before he would likely be able to do anything with Runes beyond following basic instructions was irritating, to say the least. In saying that, the fact did not take away from his overall interest in the subject as a whole. As a result, Harry entered the sitting room to find only one figure at the table, sipping on her tea and appearing to be glancing at a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Good morning.” Harry greeted politely, taking a seat across from Grace and pouring himself some tea of his own. As soon as he sat down, a small menu appeared in front of him, from which the elves would make whatever he chose. He decided on a rather conservative meal consisting of porridge and some fruit. Once he ordered, Grace, who happened to be the other figure at the table, looked up from her newspaper and tilted her head, appraising him curiously.

“You’ve made the paper.” she told him, her voice completely neutral. 

Harry gazed cautiously back at her. “I’m not entirely sure how I should feel about that.” he answered honestly. “Who’s the author? Skeeter?”

“No,” Grace answered easily, “it’s a name I’ve seen before, but not one who covers most of the major stories. It’s nothing too scandalous, I just found the article to be interesting.” Without another word, Grace slid the paper across the table to Harry, who looked down at the open page, careful to keep his expression blank as he read the article.

_****_ ****

**_The Potter Twins’ Dynamic Duel  
By John Doe_ **

**As I am sure all in this country are aware, yesterday saw the fulfillment of the annual Gala held at Potter Manor designed to both celebrate the birthday of The-Boy-Who-Lived and raise funds for the Charlus Potter Charitable Fund. This year, however, there was a twist. Charlus’s twin brother, who happens to be the Potter heir and older by several minutes, made his first public appearance at this event. As well as receiving his heir’s ring from his father at the end of the gala, Heir Harry Potter found himself surrounded by quite the crowd of curious onlookers.**

**A member of the crowd, Griselda Marchbanks, Head of the Ministry’s Educational Division asked Heir Potter about his apparent standout feats in terms of his academics. Upon further investigation after the fact, I can confirm that according to the exam records made public by the school each and every year, Harry Potter earned O+’s in Charms, Defense Against The Dark Arts and Transfiguration. While first year exam scores are by no means an indicator of future success, one can imagine why Madam Marchbanks may have been curious, both based upon her position and the unique nature of Harry Potter’s achievement.**

**What followed her questions, however, left the rest of us in shock.**

**After a fair bit of probing, Harry Potter agreed to perform some basic feats of magic that may have been asked of him during the first year examinations. Where this story gets interesting is when his more famous brother, Charlus, decided to join the fray. For reasons unknown, Charlus seemed to wish to take part in this little game and we quickly had a battle of one-upmanship taking place between the Potter twins. By the end of the exchange, both boys had achieved some rather impressive magic for their age, but when Harry Potter performed a more advanced adaptation of the Avifors spell, which is not taught until second year, the show came to a close…**

From there, the article summarized the very little that was known about Harry. His exam scores, the fact that he was in Slytherin House, and the fact that he was the Potter Heir, before signing off. Unlike the other writer for the Prophet, Rita Skeeter, this John Doe did not seem to be one for overdramatized speculations.

Harry shrugged. “Can you explain to me why this article was even written? It seems like such a waste of time. I mean, how is this news?”

“Your brother is probably the second most famous living person in the magical world.” Grace said bluntly, as if explaining a simple concept to a small child. “Anything he does at a public event that is normal finds its way into the paper. This wasn’t expected and it let them throw your name into the hat, the forgotten Potter Heir steeped in mystery and all that.” she shrugged. “I’m honestly surprised that it isn’t closer to front page news.” she rolled her eyes. “Of course, it may have been, had the pages closer to the front not been dominated by the rest of the gala.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Not particularly. It’s all written by this same writer, and he doesn’t seem one for speculation. I’m assuming your father didn’t let Skeeter in. Personally, I’d be furious if I were Skeeter.”

“And why is that?” Harry asked, interested in Grace's take on that bit of drama.

“People note that event down every year and it’s always a highly sold addition of the _Prophet_ when it’s reported on. By having this John Doe report it instead of Skeeter, he likely just made his name off of one _Prophet_ and he could now pose as a threat to her position as the _Prophet’s_ top writer. Plenty of people enjoy her speculative style, but a lot of people don’t. Those people will gravitate towards this John Doe, at which point, her position at the top of the _Prophet’s_ hierarchy and payroll may be in jeopardy.”

Harry nodded slowly. He could not help but be impressed at how Grace’s mind had put all of that together so quickly and effortlessly. It was the little things like that. They wouldn’t have direct impacts in the world, but it could have more subtle undertones for certain. Those were the things that Harry knew he would need to get better at recognizing and Grace had done just that wonderfully. Before Harry could think up a new topic of discussion, Grace had broached one herself.

“Charlotte is at the Greengrass’s and Mother and Father are out.” she told him. “I was thinking that today could be a good day for your first lesson in Active Occlumency if you think that you’re prepared for it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be any more or less prepared at any other time.” Harry answered honestly, following her to his feet and exiting the room a few minutes later after finishing the rest of his meal. Again, Grace led him to her room and once inside, they both took seats on the bed once more.

When they were settled, Grace began with a question. “If I ask you about the stages of Occlumency, do you or do you not know what I’m talking about?”

“Vaguely. I know that Occlumency and Legilimency are both seven-tiered systems and that I would be considered a first level Occlumens.”

Grace’s face remained passive. “You have very solid reading material. Most people don’t even realize that there are tiers at all. Do you understand why they are important?”

Harry shrugged. “Again, vaguely. I know that the tiers have to be completed in their specific order and that a person has to master the main parts of each tier before they can advance.” he paused. “Subskills are also involved somehow, but I quite literally know nothing about that.”

Grace’s eyebrows rose. “You are remarkably well-informed.” she noted. “Subskills are something that I’ll explain later. For now they’re not essential, but they are extremely useful if one has time for them. I won’t be teaching you subskills because those are components of Passive Occlumency that can be learned on your own time as long as you fully trust whatever book you’re reading.” Harry nodded, accepting the fact.

“The first level of Occlumency centers mostly around the understanding of your mind. By learning to clear it, combined with the meditative exercises, you’re subconsciously developing a natural understanding of your mind. The purpose of this is so that you can eventually detect intrusions and irregularities. Since you’re still a level one Occlumens, you’re not actually ready to learn how to actively defend yourself against Legilimency. For lack of a better phrase, you’re still building the foundations. The first step is for you to actually be able to notice when somebody is launching a psychic attack on you in the first place.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” he said carefully. “How will I know when that happens? Like… describe the feeling, maybe? Or is it just subconscious?”

Grace thought about that. “A bit of both, honestly. Your mind will eventually detect that something isn’t normal. It should almost feel like… something brushing against your mind, I suppose. At the beginning, you’ll be actively searching your mind, so it should be easier since you’re looking for it. Eventually, you’ll build enough mental memory that your mind will just sense it instantly. Or, at least, instantly unless the attacker has a very high degree of skill.”

“Could you attack my mind without me knowing?”

Grace quirked an eyebrow. “Right now? I could probably pull days of memories from your mind without you even realizing it, and I’m far from the best Legilimens around. I have quite a lot of raw talent for the art, but I’ve focused almost exclusively on Occlumency, for the most part.”

Harry had to resist the urge to gulp. That thought was terrifying to say the least. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Could you attack the mind of an average Occlumens within the field without them knowing?”

Grace had to think that over. “Probably,” she admitted, “but it would take a lot of focus at the moment.” she shrugged. “My sister would honestly have a better chance at doing that than me, but I’d be able to defend my mind far, far better than her.” That was a fact that Harry noted down for later use.

“So we’ll be building mental memory, I’m assuming?”

“Exactly,” Grace affirmed, “I’ll be launching very light but very blunt Legilimency probes into your mind.”

“Similar to the other day then?”

Grace paused. “There are… two ways we can do this.” she explained. “The traditional way and the one that works fastest and best is to start with more blunt probes. This would mean that they would be a bit stronger than the one I used the other day. I wouldn’t actively glean your thoughts, but if you didn’t notice within a few minutes and I wanted to make it more obvious, which will almost definitely happen, there is a chance that I could get a flash of whatever you’re thinking at that time.”

Harry pursed his lips. He absolutely hated the thought of anybody in his mind seeing anything. He knew that on this occasion, it was paranoia. Grace would effectively only see what he allowed her to see, but it still made him uncomfortable. “And the other option?” he asked.

“We do it with similar probes to the other day. This makes it miles harder on you and will probably slow the process down by a few months, because it will be ages before you can even detect a probe at all, let alone with any amount of consistency.”

Harry sighed. “Well then, I suppose we have to go with the first option.”

Grace’s lips twitched. “Just don’t think of anything important to you. It really shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“I know; I just really dislike the thought of somebody in my head.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You’re going to have to get used to it, because it’s going to become more and more frequent and probably more invasive as we progress.”

“Wonderful.”

Grace laughed softly. “I’m humbled by your trust.” When Harry made a face, Grace just laughed again. “Honestly, do you trust anybody?”

Harry actually had to think about that, even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. Did he trust anybody? He trusted Daphne, Blaise and Tracey far more than anyone else and he had trusted them enough last year to let them in on some major secrets, but he honestly couldn’t say that he trusted any of them fully yet. After all, he had refrained from revealing anything about his encounter with Voldemort, or his Parseltongue ability, or anything else that he thought was too important in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes and no.” he answered with a smirk, doing his best to play it off as a joke.

Grace’s light laughter did continue, but he thought she had likely seen through the attempt at humour. “Well,” she said a moment later, sliding her wand effortlessly from her sleeve and into her hand, “do you trust me enough to start?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “I suppose.” he told her, and Grace took aim at his forehead. She did so in a slow, deliberate manner as not to startle him, but Harry still had to resist the urge to flinch and his fingers still twitched, as if to summon his own wand from its holster. Even if he wanted to, he doubted it would do him any good against her, but that was a thought better left untouched.

“Legilimens.” 

Grace spoke softly but clearly, and her enchanting, bluish silver eyes found his as she spoke. She seemed to do her best to maintain eye contact with him for the most part as he stared pensively back at her. He knew from his experiences with Charlotte that eye contact at least had some impact on Legilimency, but Grace glanced around the room every now and then, so Harry doubted it was essential. After about a minute, he grew confused.

“Have you started?” he asked her, flummoxed. “I thought the spell would have started it?”

Grace smirked. “The spell did start it, Harry. I’ve had a probe at the corner of your mind the entire time.” When his jaw went slack, Grace’s smirk widened. “I did warn you it would take time and that it would take at least several minutes before you noticed anything, didn’t I?.” she shrugged. “If you want proof, you were thinking about eye contact and its impact on Legilimency a few seconds ago. I haven’t checked since.”

‘Shit.’

From that moment on, Harry tried to do his best to turn his mind inwards and search for the probe, but it did not come easily. After a few minutes, Grace instructed him to clear his mind completely and continue the process. At first, this made no difference, but after about five minutes of this he felt… something? It was difficult to explain but it was like what Grace had described. It was something… unnatural. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel particularly invasive, just… curious?

“Got it!” Harry exclaimed and just as he said it, he felt the presence retreat. 

“So you did.” Grace told him with a small smile. “Sorry for the late instruction. I should’ve told you to clear your mind earlier, but I suppose I just sort of expected you to do it. I didn’t realize you hadn’t until I brushed your mind again and realized it was still active.”

“Was that bad then?” Harry asked, frowning.

“No,” Grace said without hesitation, “it was actually above average once you cleared your mind. I would honestly be stunned if you managed to detect anything with an active mind at this point no matter how long you tried. It took you about five minutes after clearing your mind. I think the average is somewhere between eight and ten, so you’re well above average.”

“How fast were you?” Harry asked, vaguely curious. He had no idea why he was being so open with his asking of questions. Grace had a similar sort of air to Hurst — or, he supposed, Voldemort, in a lot of ways. Neither of them seemed particularly adverse to questions. They both almost seemed to invite them, at least when in private, and Harry found it easier to be open with them.

Grace shrugged. “I was an exception.” she said. “It only took me two or three minutes, and my sister was around the same. You could say we have a sort of… affinity for mind magic.” she raised her wand again. “Are you ready for another round?”

_**August 5, 1992  
Malfoy Manor  
9:03 AM** _

Draco actually gaped openly at his father. He tried his best to remember a time when he had ever had a request denied so bluntly. He could remember on a few occasions his father saying no to some of his more outlandish requests, but honestly, he struggled to ever remember a time when his father had denied him anything material. 

“Wipe that unbefitting expression from your face at once, Draco.” Lucius ordered him harshly and Draco quickly obeyed. “Is it truly so baffling to you that I would deny such a presumptive request after the utter incompetence you showed this year?”

“But Father-“

“Silence!” Draco fell quiet as soon as his father’s voice rang through the room. He had rarely ever heard his father raise his voice. It was not a good sign. Unbidden, the memory of his first talk with his father from the first night he returned to the manor swam to the forefront of his mind and he winced. His father had never cursed him before that night.

Lucius stood and for a moment, Draco drew back, fearing he would be cursed again. Instead of cursing his son and heir, Lucius began to pace back and forth, wringing his hands as he did so. When he stopped pacing, he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath before opening his eyes once again and meeting his son’s stare.

“I have made a severe mistake in raising you.” Lucius said bluntly. “I have pampered you beyond belief without making you earn any of the immaculate gifts you have been given.” he scowled. “I’ve let your mother to have too much control. She has always had a sort of weakness for those closest to her and I have allowed her to coddle you for too long.” Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “You can have the broom,” Lucius decided, shocking Draco with his change of pace, “if,” he continued, “and only if you make the Slytherin House team on your own merits, using your current broomstick.”

“But father, they’ll all be on faster brooms. It’s not-“

“Life isn’t fair, Draco. This is the mistake I have made. I have raised you in a way that will allow you to complain repeatedly that life isn’t fair. Yet, you stand before me in one of the largest, most ostentatious pureblood homes in England. No, Draco, life isn’t always fair, but us Malfoys use that to our advantage. We do not whine over such inevitabilities. From here on out, you will act like a Malfoy and not simply flaunt the name. From here on out, you shall be spoiled like a Malfoy, but only if the qualities in which we practice and preach are displayed prominently and used as the weapons that they should be.” 

Lucius’s eyes found Draco’s, and there was an intensity there that the young boy had never seen before. “And only if you refrain from tarnishing anymore of the reputation that our ancestors have worked so tirelessly to achieve and maintain for generations.” he paused, as if debating something. “A new era is on the horizon, Draco. When the time comes to usher in this era, I can’t have my son and heir be weak, naive or pathetic. I cannot have any weaknesses in this family. When the time comes, we must all be ready.”

_**August 12, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
8:12 AM** _

When Harry finished reading over the list of necessary books that had been enclosed within his Hogwarts letter, he looked up and towards the two Weitts sisters, both of whom had also finished their reading. Charlotte had a positively glowing smile on her face the likes of which Harry had never seen there before. Seeing her like that made Harry think of what it had felt like for him more than a year earlier when he too had received his Hogwarts letter. Absentmindedly, he wondered why they were so much later this year. Perhaps that was another question he would ask. First though, he turned to Grace, not wanting to snap Charlotte out of her gleeful reverie.

“Did you have to buy a bunch of books by this Lockhart bloke?”

Grace nodded but tilted her head. “I did,” she told him, “his entire collection, actually. Have you never heard of him before?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t, actually. Why? Should I have?”

“Not really,” Grace answered, but Harry could tell that there was something… off about that statement that he couldn’t quite place. “He’s quite famous, but I don’t suppose you would have had any reason to know of him. I just thought you may have read the name somewhere.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Care to enlighten me?” he asked Grace, still tuning out the excited and emotional conversation going on behind him between Charlotte and Adriana. It was not his place to intrude on such a personal moment. 

“He’s sort of a folk hero, I guess you could call him.” Grace said, losing her battle with the soft smile she was shooting her sister’s way. “He’s travelled all over the world since the fall of Voldemort.” Harry had to resist the widening of his eyes when Grace referred to Voldemort by her proper alias. He was sure that she noticed his surprise, but he managed to keep the more obvious signs of surprise off of his face, so she didn’t comment. “He’s carried out a bunch of feats of bravery and the like.” she shrugged. “You’ll hear about it this year, I’m sure.”

Harry nodded but paused. “Isn’t it a bit… odd for whoever the professor is to suggest the same books for second and seventh years?”

“Oh, there’s another book for us on here too for his subject.” Grace noted. “Lockhart probably just came to some sort of agreement with the school to help boost sales in exchange for discounted books for their charity, or something. Those books will be enough to teach second years, but the teacher will probably use this other book for the most part in terms of teaching my year.” Just then, Grace was interrupted by Charlotte, who leaned over her older sister and wrapped her arms tightly around Grace, still clearly high off the reception of her Hogwarts letter. Grace gave up trying to act pensive and swept to her feet, wrapping her younger sister up in a hug of her own.

Harry had never actually seen the two of them show any real sort of affection towards each other in public in spite of Grace’s obvious love for her sister, and the sight caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. When they broke apart, Harry noticed that Grace playfully shoved Charlotte away from her, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face that gave her away. “Don’t act so surprised.” Grace told Charlotte lightly. “We all knew you were going to get the letter.”

“I know that,” Charlotte said excitedly with a roll of her eyes, “but it’s a different thing to actually HAVE the letter!” 

Grace just sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

Charlotte turned to Harry and for a second, he thought she was going to hug him too, a thought that surprised him as much as it put him off. Clearly, Charlotte thought better of it, for instead, she simply shot him a bright smile. “Sorry about butting into your conversation.” she said, but Harry noticed that she didn’t sound overly sorry.

In response, he just smiled back up at her from his spot at the table. “I can’t blame you for being excited.” he told her honestly. “Congratulations, Charlotte, I’m sure you’ll love Hogwarts.”

_**August 19, 1992  
Diagon Alley, Summer Isles  
11:23 AM** _

It had only been hours after receiving their Hogwarts letters that Harry and Charlotte both received letters from Daphne asking if they wanted to do their shopping in Diagon Alley together. Clearly, Adriana and Sigmund had also been contacted, likely by the Greengrass parents. This fact was what drove Harry, Charlotte, Grace, Adriana and even Sigmund, who had managed to get far enough ahead in his business to take the day off to meet up with Daphne, Astoria, Celia and Cyrus Greengrass, along with Tracey inside Summer Isles. 

Summer Isles, as it turned out, was an extremely high class, extremely expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley. Harry had never even known that this place existed, which wasn’t overly surprising when one took into account that it was normally only frequented by the richest of pureblood families, thus he had no reason to know about it. It wasn’t like James Potter had ever gone out of his way to explain anything like this to his son and heir. The room they dined in was absolutely breathtaking. It had an enchantment clearly similar to the one used on the Great Hall’s ceiling at Hogwarts, except it was applied to the walls. Aside from that, the main difference was that instead of seeing the night sky reflected upon the walls, they saw the most stunning coastal view one could possibly imagine. 

Harry was quiet for most of the meal, content to observe the conversation that had been kept up by the others in the room. When they had all finished their meal, the group divided. Grace went off to meet up with some of her friends, and Harry, Daphne and Tracey did likewise, bringing Charlotte along with them. Ideally, they would have been meeting up with Blaise as well, but he was still on vacation in Italy. Apparently, it would be a family associate who did the shopping in the Zabini household. The parents and Astoria were going back to their respective homes. Sigmund seemed reluctant to allow Charlotte to go with the three second years, but he did not stop Adriana from giving their youngest daughter her blessing to do so.

As Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Charlotte walked through the alley, Harry could not help but allow his eyes to be attracted to most of the displays they passed. He had now spent a year in this magnificent world of magic, but it still felt every bit as fantastical as it had on that first day more than a year ago. He was thankful, not for his father, but for the admittedly generous amount of money that James had sent him the day after the Hogwarts letters had been sent out. Obviously, James knew that Harry would be shopping and smartly, he had not imposed himself upon his eldest son, instead sending him far more money than he would need for Diagon Alley. Harry sincerely hoped that James didn’t think he could be bought simply because he was a Slytherin. 

That was perhaps the one area that James hadn’t failed him in yet. He genuinely did not seem to care what colour Harry’s robes were. Unfortunately, he also seemed to be Albus Dumbledore’s personal puppet, so there was that to contend with and Harry had a strong feeling that fact would be insurmountable. He was still conflicted about James in some regards but by this point, Harry knew with one hundred percent certainty that he would never trust his father again and that he would likely never have any feelings for the man. He had blown any chance of that when he had promised Harry he would not return to the Dursleys and then failed to make good on said promise.

“Harry?” Charlotte said, bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah… sorry, I spaced out there a bit.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I think you do that more than anybody else I know.” she commented. When the most she got in terms of a reaction was a quirked eyebrow, Daphne sighed. 

Then, Charlotte spoke up again. “Daphne and Tracey seem to disagree on which House I’ll be going to.” Tracey’s eyes widened and Daphne just looked exasperated. 

“How do you do that?” Tracey asked her. “We didn’t even say anything!”

Charlotte shrugged. “You’re a very loud thinker, Tracey.” When Daphne looked mildly outraged, Charlotte raised her hands in placation. “And no, I wasn’t trying to legilimize her.” she winced, casting a quick sideways glance at Harry. “I’m… at a stage of Legilimency where I’m trying to get better without a wand.” she winced for a second time. “I’m… very good at it, but my problem right now is control. I can kind of… tell when somebody is thinking something really intensely, or get their general mood or impression.” she looked a bit sheepish. “I’ve always been able to do that, but right now, while I’m trying to improve the ability, it’s becoming hard to turn off at times.”

“That actually sounds horrible.” Daphne commented.

Charlotte shrugged. “I won’t have to put up with it forever. It’s just until I get enough control to turn off the ability.” Harry had to resist the urge to glance at Charlotte. All of that sounded far too familiar. Mind you, he could not simply glean somebody’s thoughts by standing near them, but if he focused, he had usually been able to tell what general topic somebody was thinking about. And there was the bit that very few people could lie to him and get away with it. Suddenly, he was left questioning whether or not this mysterious sixth sense of his was some form of subconscious Legilimency. But that in and of itself made absolutely no sense. Legilimency was a very precise art guided by intent. To use it subconsciously was literally a contradiction of the thing itself.

He jolted a second later when Charlotte snapped her fingers right in front of his face. With a blink, Harry shook his head. “Yeah… sorry, again.”

Charlotte shot him a rather calculating stare, but she did not elaborate as to why. “Well, let’s settle this, shall we? Daphne thinks I’m a shoe in for Slytherin, and Tracey thinks I’ll end up in Ravenclaw. So, Harry, which house do you think I’ll be in?”

“Slytherin.” Harry said without a second thought. He didn’t need any more context to make the decision.

Charlotte smirked as Daphne shot a smug look at Tracey, who rolled her eyes. “You’ve been doing lessons for years!” Tracey argued. 

“Yes, but that’s because she’s ambitious.” Daphne said, drawing air quotes around the last word. Harry also thought the Weitts family probably had something to do with that, but he didn’t voice that thought aloud.

“Aww, thanks Daphne!” Charlotte said, pretending to be moved by the statement. Daphne shoved Charlotte playfully, and in response, Charlotte just laughed.

“Ok, sure. But she also HATES not knowing things! And I mean HATES IT!”

This time, Charlotte mock glared at Tracey, but everybody knew that she couldn’t deny the accusation. Still, that sentiment hit a little bit too close to home for Harry to just leave unchallenged. “So do I.” he said quietly, pulling all three girl’s attention onto him. “That’s me in a nutshell and I’m not an eagle.” Tracey didn’t really seem to have a good response for that.

“Yeah,” Daphne muttered with a roll of her eyes, “but you’re a special case.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “I just backed you up and now you have to go and single me out like that?”

“Sorry, Harry, but it’s true.” Daphne said with a smile.

“Anyways,” Harry said, diverting the conversation away from what could have possibly either been a light jab or a backhanded compliment, “Charlotte’s one hundred percent going to be a Slytherin, Tracey, trust me.” As he said this, he remembered the way Charlotte had essentially manipulated her mother, last Samhain, in order to ensure that Harry did not have to return to James. There was cunning there for certain, and the air that Charlotte carried about her practically screamed of Slytherin House. As if she could read his thoughts or more precisely, his memories, Charlotte shot him a small, nearly imperceptible smile. Harry supposed she actually might be reading his thoughts, but he somehow doubted it.

Tracey huffed indignantly just as the quartet entered Twilfitt and Tattings. It was a more high-end robes shop in Diagon Alley as opposed to Madam Malkin’s. Privately, Harry wondered what jobs Tracey’s step parents had in the muggle world. These kinds of robes weren’t cheap. There was also the possibility that the Weitts family, or more likely the Greengrasses, simply paid for her as well, he supposed. They had done so for Summer Isles, as they had for Harry, but that had been a sort of occasion. As they entered the high-end robes shop, they were greeted with four familiar faces that took them all a bit aback. 

“Fancy seeing you three here.” Cassius Warrington greeted his young trio of friends with a grin just as he stepped off of the stool after being fitted with a new set of robes. Currently, both Hestia and Flora were being fitted and Calypso, who had evidently already been, was peering critically at a rather immaculate looking dress. With her back turned, she hadn’t noticed their entrance but when Cassius spoke, she turned around and her soft, angelic face broke into a genuine smile at the sight of the three, now second year Slytherins, who had entered the shop.

“Harry!” Calypso greeted first, beaming at him before greeting both Daphne and Tracey. “I have a bone to pick with you.” Calypso told Harry after the reunions were out of the way. Harry became wary, trying to remember what, if anything, he may have done to Calypso. When his mind came up empty, he just peered expectantly back up at her. “I wrote you about five letters in the first few weeks of summer and you never answered any of them.”

Harry had to clamp down hard on his emotions not to show a visible reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Daphne shooting him a brief, sideways glance that he was fairly sure Calypso caught. Charlotte gave away nothing, but he was sure that she and Daphne were thinking along the same lines. To Tracey’s credit, she too gave nothing away. It appeared when a secret was close to Tracey’s heart, she actually could keep it, something that Harry viewed as truly miraculous given her track record with secrets.

“I didn’t get any mail in the first few weeks of summer.” Harry said carefully. “Not because you didn’t send it to the right person or anything like that, just that I wasn’t in a position to receive it.” Calypso looked vaguely curious and Cassius even more so, but both of them seemed to realize that Harry wouldn’t explain any further. As usual, the Carrows looked completely impassive as the two of them stepped away from the witches fitting them and greeted Harry. They also greeted Daphne and Tracey politely but not quite as warmly as the other two. Harry got a greeting slightly warmer than his two friends. 

He thought he was starting to understand small bits of the Carrows. They didn’t care about your name. Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. Your name could put you on their radar. It could get you in the door, one might say. If you truly wanted their respect, however, it was something that you had to earn over time. Harry had done so, mainly through his practices with the older students. Daphne and Tracey hadn’t been along on any of those nights, so they had yet to earn the twins’ respect.

When the initial greetings had concluded, Calypso turned to peer slightly down at Charlotte. For a second, it seemed as if Calypso was puzzled as to who she was. Then, a look of dawning comprehension crossed her face. Privately, Harry thought it was the eyes that had given Charlotte away. Harry had never quite seen eyes like those of Charlotte, Grace and Adriana, but they were a very distinctive feature. 

“Charlotte... Weitts?” Calypso asked, and Harry had never heard her voice so carefully modulated. It projected a definite air of politeness and respect that was very uncharacteristic for a now fifth year speaking to a not-yet first year. 

Harry was sure that Charlotte noticed, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she simply bowed her head in respect, acknowledging that Calypso’s house status of Ancient and Most Noble technically outranked her own before she extended her hand. When Calypso took it, she spoke. “I’m Charlotte, yes. You’re the Rosier heiress, right? Calypso, I think?”

“Correct,” Calypso said with a warm smile, glancing curiously from Charlotte to Harry. It was so fast that most would’ve missed it but Harry didn’t, nor did Daphne, judging by the narrowing of her eyes. Charlotte may have, since she wasn’t paying much attention to that sort of thing by the look of it, but she also may have surprised Harry and not missed it at all. “Are you going to be a first year starting in September?” Calypso asked.

Charlotte smiled a wide, genuine smile. “I am,” she told the older Slytherin, “I’m honestly really looking forward to it.”

Calypso smiled back at her easily. “I’d say that I hope to see you in Slytherin, but I honestly doubt there’s any real mystery as to where you’ll go.” Charlotte smiled at Calypso one final time before the two broke apart and she was introduced to the other three. Even the Carrows’ greeting was uncharacteristically polite and suddenly, Harry realized just how much influence Grace held with her status at the helm of Slytherin House.

“Here for your school stuff, I‘m guessing?” Cassius asked as a way of changing the topic of conversation. When all four of them nodded, he glanced to Calypso, who gave a subtle nod of her own. 

“We’ll wait for you four if you’d like to do your shopping with us.” Calypso offered, to which the four younger students agreed before getting their own set of robes before exiting the shop in a group of eight now as opposed to four. “Where’s Zabini?” Calypso asked offhandedly. “You four usually seem to travel all together or in ones or twos, not usually in threes.”

“Italy,” Harry answered, “vacationing with his mum.”

“Wish I was somewhere like Italy right about now.” Cassius said. “Flint’d probably kill me though.”

Charlotte glanced at both Harry and Daphne and when she realized neither of them had the answers she was looking for, she asked, “Why would Flint kill you?”

“Quidditch.” the Carrow twins both answered as one, sounding an odd mixture of exasperated and bored. 

When Charlotte just raised a brow, Calypso elaborated. “The lunatics practice all summer.” It was pretty obvious from the tone of her voice what she thought of such a usage of Cassius’s time.

“Have you found another seeker yet?” Tracey asked cautiously, not quite knowing how to tread in regards to the topic of Higgs and his untimely demise.

Cassius scowled. “Flint says he might’ve found someone, but he’s keeping it all hushed up at the moment. I have no idea who he’s on about.” This time, it was Charlotte’s gaze that flickered and for the briefest of seconds, it landed on Harry. Before he could think much on the fact, however, the eight of them were halted by an absolutely massive line that stretched out from the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. Unfortunately for the octet, Flourish and Blotts was the next stop that all of them needed to make.

“Well,” Cassius deadpanned, “this will be delightfully entertaining.”

Calypso rolled her eyes. “Don’t be foolish, Cassius. Follow me.” Without another word, Calypso began strolling through the line of gathered witches and wizards as if she owned the place. Baffled, Harry furrowed his brow and followed. Cassius too looked confused, but evidently, Daphne was not, for she quickly whispered to Harry, Tracey and Charlotte that the Rosier family was a majority stakeholder in Flourish and Blotts. And just like that, the party of eight quickly found themselves right near the front of the line. As they entered the shop, it became apparent exactly why the bookshop, which was admittedly busy on the best of days, seemed to be the only place to be on a seemingly random summer’s day.

Plastered everywhere were posters, all of which boldly proclaimed the same message. Gilderoy Lockhart, the wizarding folk hero that Grace had told Harry about would be signing autographs today in celebration of his autobiography, Magical Me, which Harry assumed must be a new release. As a matter of fact, their group was just in time to spot two figures with messy black hair strolling up to the man himself. When Harry saw them, he tensed. The figures were unmistakably his brother and his father. Harry tensed further when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, but he relaxed marginally when he realized it was Daphne. 

Just then, Gilderoy Lockhart swept to his feet, loudly exclaiming that it couldn’t be Charlus Potter. Then, Charlus and Lockhart posed for a picture. Unfortunately, before the display had concluded, Peter Pettigrew, who stood beside James, whispered something in his ear, prompting James to do the same to Lockhart. Next thing Harry knew, Gilderoy Lockhart’s baby blue eyes were fixed upon him and he realized with mounting horror what was about to happen.

“But of course,” Lockhart said loudly enough for the whole shop to hear him, “Charlus Potter is just one-half of a set!” Lockhart allowed the murmuring to rise in volume once more and die down before he continued. “Why, his brother too has been making headlines as of late for his incredible achievements! I think it only fair that both Potters get the shine they deserve, even if one of them isn’t quite as notorious as the other.” Lockhart gave a short laugh before gesturing grandiosely for Harry to join him and Charlus. The latter was glaring at Harry. More specifically, he was glaring at Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows, but his eyes kept flickering back towards Harry in an unmistakable gesture. 

For a moment, Harry’s mind raced through various methods that could possibly be used to get him out of the situation. If he had more time, he had no doubt he could have come up with something. Unfortunately, Harry did not have endless amounts of time on his hands at the moment and before he could come up with anything, both Charlotte and Daphne were nudging him forward, the latter shooting him an encouraging smile. Clearing his mind and forcing his trademark, artificial smile onto his face, Harry strode forwards with as much confidence as he could muster as he took his stance beside Lockhart, standing on the opposite side of him than the one occupied by his brother. Lockhart wrapped an arm around Harry, who stiffened, his smile faltering.

“Smile nice and wide, boys.” Lockhart whispered through his own perfect grin. “Between me and Charlus here, we’re worth the front page, and we’ll get you some notoriety too.” he told Harry as if it was the greatest gift a man could give. Immediately, Harry decided that Lockhart was either a fraud or a prat who went around trying to save the world for attention. He had no idea which of them he was, but he was sure of two things. Somebody this naturally pompous could not possibly be a good person and in this moment, he despised Gilderoy Lockhart nearly as much as he did his father.

Mercifully, the pictures did not take long, but less fortunately, Lockhart’s arm tightened around both Harry and Charlus as he cleared his throat, clearly preparing to make a grand announcement to the assembled crowd of admirers. 

“When the Potter twins here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge,” the crowd applauded again, “they had no idea however,” Lockhart continued, giving both Harry and Charlus a little shake that greatly annoyed the former and made the latter‘s glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. They and their schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Harry could only think how typical this was. He sincerely hoped that Lockhart was just a self-centered prat and not incompetent. It was kind of inevitable that no matter who they had, it would be a step down from last year in terms of the lesson quality. In saying that, Harry still would much rather learn something this year. Even if he knew the entire curriculum and then some, which he did, a good teacher would still manage to impart something onto him. He had a feeling that Lockhart would likely not fall into this category. It was with that in mind that he walked away from Lockhart a bit sourly.

When he rejoined his friends, struggling under the weight of his newly acquired stack of books, he could only comment one thing as they began to prowl through the store, trying to find everything it was that they needed. “He’s either the most self-centered person I’ve ever met, or he’s somehow faked all of it and he’s completely useless.” Many of his groupmates seemed to agree with the latter, but as they split up to get their respective books, Harry felt a light touch on his arm. When he turned, he met the silvery-eyed stare of Charlotte.

“Just to let you know, there’s a lot more to him than that.” she said and before he could question her further, she was off to collect her own books. Then, before Harry could do likewise, several voices drew his attention. There, not ten feet away from him were Draco Malfoy, Charlus Potter and a small, red-headed girl who Harry assumed was another Weasley.

From what Harry could glean, it appeared as though Malfoy was taking the mickey out of the two Weasleys for their lack of financial security. A minute or so later, Draco showed his true colours when two people whom Harry assumed were Ron’s parents stepped up behind him. Then, Harry’s attention was caught by a voice he had only heard twice before. Once had been at the Samhain gathering, and the other had been in Snape’s office near the end of his first year at Hogwarts.

“My word, Arthur Weasley.” Lucius Malfoy stepped up beside his son as he spoke, resting a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder. His face showed off a perfectly calm, perfectly polite expression, but Harry could see the obvious intent in his eyes.

“Lucius.” Arthur Weasley responded curtly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear.” Lucius drawled. “All those raids, I do hope they’re paying you overtime.” As he said this, Lord Malfoy reached swiftly into the youngest Weasley’s cauldron before withdrawing a very battered version of A Beginner’s Guide To Transfiguration. “Obviously not.” he said with a click of his tongue. “What is the point of being a disgrace to the name of ‘wizard’ if they aren’t even paying you well for it.”

Then, as Arthur Weasley flushed a frankly astonishing shade of red, Harry suddenly realized exactly where Ron had inherited that most amusing ability from. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of a wizard, Malfoy.”

“Clearly,” Lucius hissed in barely more than a whisper, allowing his eyes to flick towards two people whom Harry hadn’t even noticed. Judging by the fact that Hermione Granger stood very nearby them, Harry could only assume that they were her parents. Then, Harry saw the familiar figures of James, Charlus and Pettigrew making their way towards the conversation and he thought it was about time for him to take his leave. Unfortunately, he was never given that option, as Lord Malfoy continued. “My, the company you keep, and I thought your family could sink no lower.” It was very clear that Arthur Weasley was seconds away from throwing himself towards Lord Malfoy but before he could, James’s voice cut smoothly into the conversation.

“Let me guess, Malfoy. Harassing a good family about being blood traitors just because they don’t bow to your beliefs and help fill your pockets?”

Harry could have winced at his father’s bluntness, but Malfoy Sr. showed no visible reaction, though Draco did flinch, if only marginally. “Why, Potter, I can assure you that I have very specific reasoning for my opinion of Arthur Weasley.” he sneered. “By example, the disgraceful Muggle Protection Act that I am sure you worked oh so hard to pass for your poor, pitiful friend.” 

James’s jaw tightened as Peter placed a hand on both James’s and Arthur’s shoulders. “And what’s wrong with the Muggle Protection Act, Malfoy?”

“Oh, nothing at all, Potter. Aside from the fact, of course, that it does very little to protect the poor muggles at all.” his eyes gleamed. “What it does do is give your friend Weasley the authority to… act above his station, one might say.” Harry made a mental note to look up this “Muggle Protection Act” because this was the first time he had heard about it. Then, Lucius Malfoy’s eyes flickered over to Harry moments before he could make his exit. “Even if the act was put in place by somebody competent as to assure its usefulness,” Lord Malfoy continued, the gleam in his eyes now obvious, “I would argue that the muggles do not need protecting from us.” Malfoy then locked eyes with Harry for the first time. “Isn’t that right, Heir Potter?”

Suddenly, Harry was kicking himself for not walking away earlier. He really needed to work on curbing his natural curiosity. He was indeed a very curious person by nature. He thought that spending most of his life in a cupboard may have had something to do with that. Whether he liked it or not though, this was now the second time this quirk of his had led him into an unfavourable situation. The first had been when he walked into Malfoy Jr’s trap. And that wasn’t counting the confrontation at the end of last year as stemming from curiosity. Now, he had allowed himself to be pinned into a proverbial corner by Malfoy Sr. The worst part was that if Harry answered in the positive, he would seriously irritate his father. If he answered in the negative, he may seriously irritate his friends. If he answered in the neutral, he may avoid the outright scorn of any of them, but he would suddenly draw the suspicion of all of them. And that was not even accounting for the fact that there really wasn’t a good, neutral answer here. In spite of that, Harry simply had to do his best on the fly.

“I’m sure that the Ministry is much more qualified than me to answer that question, Lord Malfoy.” Harry answered respectfully. “But… I do think it might be best if wizards look into muggles before passing laws in the future.” As soon as he said it, Harry knew that it had not quite come out as neutral as he had been hoping for. He hadn’t wanted to give a non-answer in fear of it being taken the wrong way by both sides. Unfortunately, that answer had drawn hateful glares from Ron and Charlus, a rather calculating stare from Pettigrew, a shocked, semi-horrified expression from James and a small, victorious smirk from Lord Malfoy.

“So glad we are in agreement, Heir Potter.” he said, smirk still in place. “I would be happy to answer any questions you may have on matters you do not feel… qualified to speak on in the future. I am sure your owl can find me.” Then, his grip tightened on Draco’s shoulder. “Come, Draco, we are leaving.”

“As are we.” Calypso muttered, making Harry tense when she wrapped a rather protective arm around him and guided him out of the book shop before he could feel the wrath of his family and their friends, allowing the rest of their group to trail in their wake.

__**August 21, 1992**  
An Undisclosed Location  
2:23 PM 

“Pathetic.” Mister Bellona chided as Charlus snarled in frustration once more. He had been trying to get the Lacero curse to work for weeks now with absolutely no success. He had managed most of the other spells that Mister Bellona had taught him, but this one simply would not work. “An incantation is not enough, you foolish child.” his instructor scolded, and when Charlus looked confused, his tutor’s expression soured. “Magic is not about incantations, it is about intent, as we have discussed already. The spell you are simply trying to cast with a mere incantation is one that is fundamentally centered around intent! You need to crave for the damage done by the Lacero curse. You must truly wish for your adversary to feel such damage. If you do not, you will never manage more than foolishly shouting at the target, who will simply laugh at your pathetic attempts each and every time.”

“Then tell me what to do!” Charlus exclaimed in pure, unadulterated frustration. As soon as he said it, he flinched back. Outbursts were not tolerated, nor were interruptions. Let alone a rather aggressive outburst that was also a blatant interruption. 

To his surprise, however, Mister Bellona did not raise his wand. Instead, the figure tilted his head, and Charlus could imagine it’s hooded face staring speculatively back at him. “For now,” it told him, “you will need a crutch.” When Charlus looked confused, the figure elaborated. “You must truly desire the damage to be wrought. So, in place of said intent that seems so non-existent within you, you will conjure up an image in your mind that will make you want to cause that damage. I do not care what that image is, but the next time you cast that spell, it will be with a clear image in mind — one that will cause your blood to boil and your heart to pump faster. One that will cause your brain to begin to grasp the intent that you lack so utterly in your spell casting.”

Charlus closed his eyes and took several, deep breaths. Most of that had gone way over his head, but he thought he understood the basics. He would need to imagine something that made him angry. No, not angry — furious. He would need to imagine something that made him so furious that it would make him want to cause damage. 

Amusingly, the first image was of Mister Bellona, raising his wand to curse him for yet another outburst. He dismissed it quickly. Mister Bellona and his archaic teaching habits were certainly infuriating, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. His next thought was of Voldemort. A few months ago, he was sure it would have worked. Now, instead of the raw, uncontextualized hatred that he once felt when thinking of his mother’s murderer, there were more… complicated emotions. He still hated her with a burning passion but there was one problem. There was also the self-hatred and self-doubt there, and he was not sure that either of those two things would help the spell in any way, shape or form.

As frustration mounted, Charlus tried to think. He tried to remember the last time he was indisputably furious at something. Then, it came to him. It was not the image he would have thought of. In fact, he would have never dreamed of using such an image, but it was not so much the image itself as much as everything it signified. As he thought this, Charlus’s heart rate quickened and he could feel his face flush. Then, with a slightly shaky hand, Charlus raised his wand and slashed it viciously towards the dummy.

“Lacero!”

A purple distortion in the air later, the dummy was lying prone with a massive gash running through its center. Almost clinically, Mister Bellona examined Charlus’s handiwork before nodding in an almost approving sort of way. “Adequate.” he said, turning back to face Charlus. “I do not suppose you would endeavour to tell me which memory you used?”

Charlus shook his head. He would never. After all, how could he possibly reveal what made him more furious than anything else? How could he possibly reveal that the image of his brother, endorsing the anti-muggle beliefs of Lucius Malfoy made him more furious than his mother’s murderer. True, there was more to it than that. A large part of his anger did not come from Harry himself, but the situations surrounding him. A large part of his anger came from what they should have been. The two of them should have been brothers, inseparable members of one happy family. This, Charlus wanted above all else — the Mirror of Erised had even shown him as much. 

But instead, Harry had been sorted into the breeding ground for dark witches and wizards. Instead, Charlus had slowly lost his brother over the past year to the influences of the Conservatives. Charlus had been concerned after their encounter with Voldemort down in the catacombs. 

Now, he was certain of it. 

Harry Potter, his twin brother, was surely lost to those of darkness, and that thought made Charlus more angry than any other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter was astonishingly difficult to write. Even more so because I expected it to be quite easy. In saying that, the next chapter is more straightforward and it posed me almost no trouble at all.**
> 
> **In the next chapter, Harry and his friends will finally return to Hogwarts, which is something that I know a lot of people have been looking forward to.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 25th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	7. Schemes and Sortings Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**August 21,1992  
The Cuffe Household  
9:04 PM** _

Rita Skeeter frowned distastefully as the surprisingly strong summer wind blew her hair out of its immaculate position as she stepped out of old Barney’s home. In truth, Barnabus Cuffe, the editor of the Daily Prophet wasn’t terribly old. Still, Rita had known the man for so long now that it felt that way to her. He certainly seemed older than he was at times. Times like tonight, where he had easily and casually brushed her concerns about an up and coming reporter aside. Because of course, why would James Potter’s inherent dislike of her be counted against her in future opportunities when she had been the best selling writer the Prophet had seen in decades? That was, at least, if one did not count the wartime additions during the Purity War prior to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s defeat in 1981.

All in all, Rita was feeling rather high on herself for a number of reasons. That feeling was punctured, however, when she stepped through the boundary of the Cuffe family wards and back out onto public property, intent on apparating back to her flat in London. As soon as she stepped through the wards, Skeeter saw a shadow shift in a most unnatural manner. Immediately, the reporter’s wand was in her hand but as she cast her eyes around the dimly lit clearing, even going as far as to activate the night vision enchantment on her charmed glasses, Rita could see nothing at all. Frowning, she glanced around one final time before deciding that it must have been a trick of the light and disapparating. She did, however, still take three trips to apparate home in case she was being followed by something that somehow evaded her enchanted spectacles. After all, one could never be too careful, least of all when they had as many enemies as Rita Skeeter.

_**Meanwhile, at Weitts Manor...** _

Harry stopped reading his book on Ancient Runes at last when the journal sitting on the desk beside him glowed blue with Emily’s response. This had been the longest she had ever taken to respond to him. Granted, it had still been less than twenty minutes, but it had been enough time for him to become entranced in his text. His memory was greatly expediting the process of learning the necessary foundational languages for Ancient Runes, and he could already tell that it would become one of his favourite subjects once the base work had been done.

As interested in the subject as he was, he was far more interested in Emily’s reply to his question, which he did not need to see to remember each and every word of.

_Emily,  
I had a question about Legilimency. I think it’s more complicated than most of the questions I’ve asked before, but I figured I’d ask anyways. I have an… acquaintance who is learning Legilimency. By all accounts, she is very good at it. I’m not sure exactly how good she is. The other day, she told me and some others that she could hear others’ thoughts and gauge their general mood just by being near them. On top of that, she said that it was becoming hard to suppress while she worked on Legilimency, since she was at a specific point where her control was lessened. _

_Can you explain anything about that?_

Harry had debated throwing in the old classic “I wasn’t even aware that was possible” line, but seeing as he had experienced similar feelings, if admittedly on a lesser and seemingly much more vague level than Charlotte, it would be an outright lie. Harry was not opposed to lying every now and then, but in his experiences of deceiving those around him, mostly his teachers pre-Hogwarts, half-truths usually worked much better than lies.

In any case, Harry opened the book eagerly and with a great deal of curiosity. As usual, Emily did not disappoint. 

_That is a rather complicated question, and it is one that is quite abstract as well, but I suppose that I can sate your curiosity. It is possible for some people to subconsciously glean the thoughts of others, though it takes a Natural Legilimens to do it, and usually quite an exceptional one at that. Usually, it is just an overall mood. For example, in my youth, I could tell whether or not someone was lying to me through use of the ability. Some, however, and I am lucky to count myself among them, experience this at a higher level, one could say. For those very, very rare individuals, they can glean exactly what a person is thinking, though it is fundamentally different from Legilimency as you know it._

Harry frowned. _What makes it different?_

_I take it that you’re familiar with the spell ‘Legilimens’ by this point?_

Still not knowing where Emily was going with this, Harry wrote his affirmation and waited for the next reply.

_That wanded spell is the most basic form of Legilimency. You are channeling your magic through your wand in order to create a link between your mind and the mind of another. By channeling your magic through a wand, you are making the process far more simple. Most people think that the spell forms stronger links, but this is not the case. The spell makes it easier to form said links, so naturally, they will usually be stronger and more difficult to break for the defending Occlumens, but it is not a fundamental component of the spell._

_For those who are particularly advanced within the field of Legilimency, a wand is completely and wholly unnecessary. For those who have truly mastered the art, forming the link between your mind and the mind of another is simply something that your magic is accustomed to doing. As such, you do not need your wand as a conductor. For the latter technique, eye contact is required, because it presents you with a point of focus to project your magic onto. The eyes are the suggested field of focus due to the neurological connection between the eyes and the brain. Beyond that, little is understood on the matter._

_The thing that these two forms of Legilimency have in common is that you are actively conducting your magic onto a specific focus point in order to form a powerful connection._

_For the vast majority of the population, these are the only two options. However, a select few among us are Natural Legilimentes._

Harry blinked. _Legilimentes?_

A second later, he sighed; he should have known what it meant based on the context.

_It is the plural for Legilimens. The word is derived from the Latin words legere and mens. In Latin, the correct plural for mens is mentes, hence the seemingly odd plural._

Harry privately cursed wizards for using Latin. It was a bit of a pain to always have to flow back and forth between Latin and English. He knew that the language of casting really wasn’t that important, since magic was cast in all kinds of languages. He wished wizards had just modernized the spells and translated them all over to English. 

_Why do Natural Legilimentes have this third option? What separates them from the rest? Surely them naturally having the ability just means they have the same abilities as the rest without needing to develop them, right?_

_And there lies the truth, Harry. Legilimency is not an ability at all. As I have said, when deconstructed, Legilimency is simply forming a connection between two minds. A Natural Legilimens does not have to form those connections from nothing, for their magic naturally creates links to those around them; albeit far weaker ones than those typically used for Legilimency. Most of them can do little more than gauge a person’s overall mood and emotions. Those of us who are particularly prodigious can read exact thoughts with some practice, but even then, the extracting of actual memories is impossible._

Harry rubbed at his temples. Legilimency as a whole seemed rather confusing. Then again, this was not the first, nor was he sure that it would be the last time he was left reeling after a theoretical discussion with the enigmatic Emily Riddle.

_**August 22, 1992  
Weitts Manor  
6:12 AM** _

Harry was awake early that next morning and after reading up on Ancient Runes for about an hour, he thought some breakfast may not be a bad idea. To his astonishment, he did not seem to be the only person to have the idea.

“Grace?” he asked quietly.

Grace’s posture stiffened and she turned around rather quickly. When she saw Harry, her blank expression did not waver. “Good morning, Harry.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you awake this early.” Harry observed, hoping that she would tell him what the purpose of this early morning was.

Grace shrugged. “You probably haven’t; I don’t exactly make a habit of it.” She pursed her lips. “Honestly, I wish I was still in bed right now.”

“Why aren’t you then?” Harry asked cautiously. It was quite a blunt question, but at 6:00 in the morning, he thought he could get away with it. Plus, he had developed a fairly open relationship with Grace, at least in regards to small, innocuous things. 

“I have my apparition test scheduled this morning.”

Harry’s eyebrow rose. “At six or seven in the morning?” He was more than a little bit skeptical of the fact. “What time exactly do you have to be there for? Surely you don’t need to be that early?”

Grace sighed. “You are entirely too observant for your age.” she told him darkly. Harry tensed almost unnoticeably. The last person to say something similar to that statement had been Dumbledore, and that had been moments before the man made a fairly efficient attempt at ruining Harry’s summer. When Harry continued to peer speculatively at her, Grace just rolled her eyes. “I have… an appointment beforehand.” Harry nodded slowly. He knew that now, he would get nothing more out of her, but he did wonder what this appointment was. Grace peered around before meeting Harry’s eyes. “I would… appreciate it, if you didn’t tell my mother and father that I left at this time. They know about the apparition test, but not my other business.”

Harry’s attention was now caught more than ever, but he kept his face completely blank and polite. “If you’d like.” he agreed, earning himself a brief smile in return as Grace reached for a grey travelling cloak and wrapped it around herself before she walked off towards the Entrance Hall and in it, the floo. 

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry muttered, eyes following her all the way out of the room, “don’t mention it.”

_**August 31, 1992  
Malfoy Manor  
8:34 PM** _

Draco knocked lightly on the heavy oak door that led into his father’s personal study. It was one of only a few rooms within the expansive confines of Malfoy Manor that he was not allowed to enter without permission under any circumstances. Not that he could have entered even if he’d wanted to. The room was rather heavily warded and it would have taken a rather talented curse breaker or a small squad of aurors to enter the room without permission in any decent amount of time. On rare occasions such as tonight, however, Draco was summoned to the room by one of the family’s house elves. It had only happened a handful of times in his life, which was how he knew that whatever this was about would be serious.

“Enter.” drawled his father’s smooth, aristocratic voice. Cautiously, Draco reached out, wrapping his fingers around the cool, immaculate doorknob before turning it and admitting himself into the ornate room. It was a very large room, dominated primarily by bookcases and portraits of Malfoy family ancestors. On the right most wall was a large fireplace. It allowed for exit only floo access. Technically, locations could be connected to the floo to allow them entrance to the manor, but to Draco’s knowledge, no other home or any other location had ever been connected. 

On the far wall facing the door, Draco’s father sat behind his large, wooden desk, reclining on his black leather chair that very much resembled a throne. Behind the large, polished oak desk on the wall was the most prominent portrait of all. It was of a man who looked quite a lot like Lucius and Draco, but his eyes were darker and his features sharper. Draco knew the face. It was his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, the previous Lord of House Malfoy prior to his death more than a decade earlier. “Sit.” Lucius commanded his heir, his attention dedicated primarily to the piece of parchment which he was reading intently. When Draco sat, he had to wait nearly five minutes before his father nodded in a self-satisfied sort of way before sliding open one of the desk drawers and neatly storing the letter within it. Only when he finished, did he look up, fixing Draco with his grey-eyed stare.

“I have told you this summer that this year, you will act as a true Malfoy and not as a foolish schoolboy, correct?” 

Draco nodded respectfully. “Yes, Father.”

“Well, Draco, I have a more… specific opportunity for you to prove your competence this year.” Draco felt apprehension crawl into the pit of his stomach at his father’s words, but he tried his utmost best not to show it. Draco was not foolish enough to miss the true message his father was projecting. There was family business that needed to be conducted this year at Hogwarts, and it would fall to him, the Malfoy Heir, to assure that said business ran smoothly. As for the nature of this business… Draco was honestly nervous to speculate.

“What would you require of me, Father?” 

Lucius leaned slightly forward in his chair, peering more critically at his son. “There is a student starting at Hogwarts this year by the name of Benedict Cuffe.” Draco quickly searched his memory bank for the name. He did not know of a Benedict Cuffe, but Cuffe was an Ancient House. “I would like you to approach him on the train, if the opportunity presents itself.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. He failed to see why on earth his father was so interested in a child from an Ancient House who he did not even believe to be the heir. “Of course, Father.” he responded carefully. “Can I… can I know why you’d like me to approach him? It might make me better suited for the job?”

Lucius smiled thinly. “Certainly. I would like for you to assure that he ends up in Slytherin House.” Draco blinked, clearly confused. Lucius answered his unasked question before he could speak. “After all, it will be much easier to observe him and report back anything you find about him back to me if you can befriend him. Which, in turn, will be much easier if he’s a member of Slytherin House.”

_**Five minutes later...** _

As Draco made for the door once his father had concluded their meeting, Lucius’s voice stopped him. 

“Draco?” 

Draco turned, eyebrows raising before his father said his final piece and dismissed him for real. “If… mysterious events come to pass this year at Hogwarts, it would be in your… best interests to not look into said events too closely and simply allow them to play out as they do.”

Draco’s brow furrowed but he did not dare question his father’s cryptic statement as he dipped his head in acknowledgement and made his exit from the room.

Once Draco had left the study, Lucius slid open the desk drawer once more and once again removed the letter he had been reading prior to Draco’s arrival. After reading it over one final time, Lucius stuffed it back in the drawer and climbed to his feet, quickly making his way over to the portrait of his ancestor, Septimus Malfoy. 

“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.” he said clearly, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a number of ornate mirrors. Lucius took a moment to examine each in turn before finally, he retrieved one with a name clearly inscribed upon its back.

_Mister Deimos._

“Walpurgis.” Lucius intoned and immediately, the mirror glowed blue. Within a minute or two, the glowing faded and a man’s face appeared in the mirror. He had sharp features, dark eyes and medium length brown hair. There were several scars on his face and he looked older than he truly was.

“Lucius?” Tiberius Nott asked, surprised.

“Hello again, old friend.” Lucius said with a small smile. “I have a proposition for you.”

_**September 1, 1992  
King’s Cross Station  
10:56 PM** _

As usual, the Weasley contingent arrived just in the nick of time, only minutes before the Hogwarts Express was set to depart from Platform 9¾. Among the Weasley brood this year was another boy who stood out like a splash of paint against a white canvas. His messy black hair served as a vivid contrast to the sea of redheads that surrounded him. Ordinarily, James would have accompanied Charlus to the platform but this morning, he was off on a raid of some kind and Peter was off… somewhere. Charlus didn’t really mind. James had managed to have an entire week off after his birthday and a few days around their trip to the alley, so he wasn’t super bothered. Besides, Charlus had no objections to spending time with the Weasleys, Ron in particular.

Mrs. Weasley went through first, clutching Ginny’s hand as she did so. Charlus could not help but notice how annoyed the youngest Weasley looked but before he could ponder on it for long, the pair of them had disappeared through the seemingly solid barrier. Next, Percy marched through the barrier alongside Mister Weasley. Then went the twins and finally, it was time for Ron and Charlus to do the same.

“Together then.” Ron asked leisurely, strolling towards the barrier at a brisk pace right alongside Charlus. As the two boys neared the barrier, Charlus smiled, ready to continue on the magical journey that had captivated him so much the year prior. 

Except for the fact that last year, he had not slammed hard into a barrier and been thrown rather painfully to the ground. Last year, he simply passed straight through the barrier alongside his best mate, walking in much the same way they had been doing now. 

As the two boys fell, a resounding crash echoed through the station and to both boys’ dismay, they found themselves being openly gawked at. Luckily, Charlus managed to play it off as if the two of them had simply lost control of the trolley, but it was still a rather disastrous crash nonetheless. When the duo had regained their bearings, they leaned up against the barrier, doing their best to look conspicuous while simultaneously trying their utmost to force their way through. To their conjoined dismay, it did not work.

“I’ve never even heard of this happening.” Ron muttered. “This has been up and running for ages. It can’t just have malfunctioned?”

Charlus shook his head thoughtfully. It was far too much of a coincidence to assume that the barrier, which, to either of their knowledge, had never been faulty before had simply failed mere moments before the most famous student ever to attend Hogwarts strolled right on up to it. “I doubt it,” he answered, “if it failed, I think it would’ve failed for everybody, not just for us. I mean, your family literally just went through. It makes no sense.” 

As he said this, Charlus looked up at the clock and his heart nearly stopped. There was only one minute left until the express was set to depart. Furiously, Charlus slammed his shoulder hard against the barrier, but it stood as solid as ever. 

“What are we gonna do?” Ron asked in a panic. “Wait for my parents?”

Charlus hesitated. There was a chance that whatever magic prevented Ron and Charlus from passing through the barrier would make it impossible for Ron’s parents to return. There was also that small part of him that had vowed to do better after the confrontation with Voldemort. He’d needed his brother and Dumbledore to save him, in spite of his best efforts. Charlus had vowed to himself to be better, to solve his own problems. 

Now, he had a choice. 

Charlus chose to solve the problem himself.

“Nah, let’s figure something out.” Charlus said. “We have no idea if your parents can even get back through the barrier and besides, even if we did wait, where would we wait that they could find us? It’s a zoo in here.”

Ron shrugged. “We could wait by the car.” Then, at the exact same moment in time, Ron’s jaw slowly fell open and Charlus’s eyes widened. The two of them shared a brief, intense stare before Ron whispered his thought aloud. “The car...”

“Ron, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Ron hesitated. “I-I think so.” he paused. “But isn’t it… you know, illegal? The Statute of Secrecy and all that?”

Charlus frowned. “Yeah, but they make exceptions in special situations. Personally, I definitely think this qualifies. And honestly, I’m kind of done letting other people solve my problems.” Ron did not know what his best friend meant by the last comment, but the thought of flying a car to Hogwarts was tempting enough to forestall any protests he may have voiced otherwise.

_**Meanwhile, on the Hogwarts Express...** _

Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Charlotte had all boarded the train together. Once onboard, the four of them had searched for an empty compartment. Instead, they found something that Harry considered to be even better.

“Blaise!” Tracey exclaimed when they opened a compartment door and revealed the tall, dark skinned boy with dark hair and eyes lounging back in his seat and reading a book whose title Harry could not distinguish.

Blaise looked up slowly, allowing his lips to curve upwards into a small smile. “Morning everyone.” he greeted cheerfully, sweeping to his feet as he stowed his book away in his bag. After reacquainting with his three friends, Blaise turned to Charlotte, who did not immediately offer her hand for the customary greeting. Instead, Blaise, looking mildly taken aback for only a second, offered her his hand and a smile that could melt ice. To Charlotte’s credit, her expression didn’t waver. That fact actually seemed to catch Blaise off guard, for he paused for a second longer than normal before going on with his introduction. Harry too was impressed. Not even Daphne could consistently resist a blush around Blaise. “It’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful maiden.” Blaise said, laying it on thick as always. “Blaise Zabini, at your service.”

Charlotte appraised him for a number of seconds before slowly, finally, she offered her hand, which Blaise brushed with his lips before clasping briefly. “A pleasure, Heir Zabini.” Charlotte said carefully. “Charlotte Weitts, youngest daughter of the House of Weitts.” For a second, surprise flashed in Blaise’s eyes and Harry could tell that he would be thoroughly annoyed with the three of them for not even informing him Grace had a younger sister. In typical fashion, Blaise’s surprise was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Ah, I see.” he said, smiling once more. “Well, I hope to see you in Slytherin, Miss Weitts.” Then, Blaise turned to Harry. “How’s the second half of summer treated you, my friend?” Blaise’s voice gave nothing away but in that moment, Harry’s suspicions that Blaise at least had ideas about his home life were confirmed. Unbidden, feelings of dread, anger and bitterness welled deep within the pit of Harry’s stomach, but he suppressed them, making sure to allow no emotion to cross his face until he smiled easily back at Blaise. Only after doing this did Harry realize that if anybody in his year had a more trademarked smile than he did, it was Blaise. Harry could almost always tell when the latter’s smile was disingenuous, and he imagined after the fact that the same would apply in reverse.

“I enjoyed it.” Harry answered easily.

“You made the paper, I noticed.” Blaise said conversationally.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific, Blaise. I’m pretty sure I made the paper more than once.”

Blaise chuckled. “So you did. Let me rephrase that. You, your brother, and our lovely new Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor made the paper.” Harry made a face and Blaise laughed openly this time. “What’s the matter, Harry? Don’t like him as much as you did Hurst?”

Harry wasn’t sure if that was Blaise’s attempt at teasing or whether it was a probe in hopes that he would mention something about Hurst. If it was the latter, Blaise really should’ve known better than to get his hopes up. “He’s incompetent.” Harry dismissed easily. 

Tracey actually gasped at his statement. “Incompetent?! Harry! Have you not read his books? He’s done all sorts of amazing things!”

“He’s written about doing all sorts of amazing things.” Harry corrected. “That and doing them aren’t necessarily the same thing.”

Blaise looked between the two of them as if vaguely interested in a particularly even tennis match. “Harry’s judgement is usually pretty sound.” Blaise admitted. “But, if he’s incompetent, he must be really incompetent. You would have to be a special kind of fool to lie about all of that. It could backfire in your face terribly. Half-truths work much better than lies. I definitely don’t think he’s useless. I think there’s probably more to him, though.” 

Harry scoffed at Blaise’s naivety in regards to Lockhart, but it was Daphne who spoke up first. “Spoken like a seasoned veteran, Zabini.” 

Blaise merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. “And you’re not a seasoned veteran?”

As Daphne made to respond, Harry turned to Charlotte, who was sitting beside him while Daphne and Blaise began to squabble and Tracey watched intently. Charlotte had a rather pensive expression and she met his stare quickly, raising an eyebrow in question. “Ask me then?” she said quietly enough for the others to miss. 

Harry frowned. “I’ll take it you didn’t mean to Legilimize me.”

“I didn’t have to.” Charlotte said exasperatedly. “When you want to ask a question, you have obvious tells. You’re good at hiding most things, but you always look uncomfortable when you want to ask a question.”

Harry paused. He supposed that would make sense based on his life at Privet Drive and the conditioning he had involuntarily received at the hands of his relatives. Still, that was a habit that would need to be broken. “You know something, don’t you?” he asked in barely more than a whisper.

Charlotte’s lips curved up in a sweet smile. “I know plenty of things, Harry. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“About Lockhart. You don’t believe me that he’s a fraud?”

“I don’t exactly know anything, but I definitely don’t think he’s a fraud. I’m pretty sure of it, actually.”

“How? Legilimency?”

Charlotte scowled, genuinely looking annoyed. “It’s rude to assume I just Legilimize everybody I come across, you know?.” she pointed out, and Harry looked a bit abashed. She sighed. “Sorry, it’s just stressful, since I’m still working on the control bit. No, it has nothing to do with Legilimency. Seeing as we’re talking about it though, he does at least know Occlumency.” 

Harry sighed; and here he had felt guilty for making assumptions about Charlotte.

_**Meanwhile, in a separate compartment...** _

Ares Black looked out the window for as long as she could, watching the figures of her Mother, Father, Aunt and Uncle vanish as the Hogwarts Express pulled steadily away from Platform 9¾. It would be odd to be away from her parents. 

Her father spent quite a lot of time at the Ministry since he had risen historically through the ranks on his way to becoming head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Still, her mother had almost always been at the manor in her youth. Often she was working, managing both the Black and Lestrange family affairs, but she was almost always there. It was true that her mother, Bellatrix, had never exactly babied her and had rather forcefully directed her towards independence at a young age, but she had still always been there. It felt so odd rushing away from virtually all she had ever known at this speed. Even when she hadn’t been at home, she had been at Malfoy Manor in the presence of Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius.

“It’s not that bad, you know?” Draco said from beside her. He too was looking out the window, and he too, like Ares herself, wore a guarded expression.

“What makes you think that I don’t like it?” Ares asked curiously. She had a strong, clear voice that was somewhat soft in its tone. She had a sort of detached way of speaking much of the time, which was exactly what she was doing right now.

Draco shrugged. “I thought about it last year.” he admitted quietly. Draco wasn’t the most open person when it came to his true feelings, but Ares was like a sister to him. If there was anybody he could trust, it was her. “It was… hard at first. I missed home, I missed my parents, I missed our lifestyle. But after a while, it gets easier. It becomes a routine, like Father always said.” Lucius had always preached the power of a routine. True, it was usually in reference to business, but Draco thought the statement still likely applied here.

Ares didn’t answer for about a minute. Then, she spoke in little more than a whisper. “Thank you, Draco.”

Draco smiled genuinely. “Always.” Then, he sighed. “I have family business I need to attend to. Care to join me?” Ares nodded. After all, what else was she supposed to do? She had no friends except for Draco, not that she had ever tried to make them. Acquaintances, sure, but her mother had always advised her against true friends. Draco was family, so he was an exception.

As they walked, Draco slid a folder out of his robes and eyed it discreetly. Ares quickly glanced at the folder from over his shoulder and recognized it. She had to bite down the urge to frown. Those folders were not overly uncommon among the wealthiest, most morally ambiguous pureblood families. Usually, they were concerned with a person. Their likes, their dislikes, how to approach them, how best to acquaint with them, their appearance, and so on and so forth. Ordinarily, rich pureblood families paid for these folders to be made up by those who would examine known information about the person. The picture that Draco was looking at was one Ares had never seen before. As they continued down the hall, Draco peered in each compartment before finally, he spotted one that was very obviously the compartment that held the boy he was looking for.

The compartment had three occupants. One was the boy whose face matched the photo Ares had seen a minute or so earlier. One was a platinum blonde girl with silvery eyes and a slim figure, and the other had flaming red hair and was very obviously a Weasley. Whatever this family business of Draco’s was, it must have been important. Though he was very clearly annoyed at seeing the youngest Weasley and doing a poor job of hiding it, he did not immediately make any slight towards her, nor did he leave. Instead, he set his jaw, looking anywhere but at Weasley as he stepped towards the only other male in the compartment and held out his hand.

“You’re Benedict Cuffe, right?” The boy, Benedict Cuffe, Ares supposed, looked intensely surprised but nodded slowly, almost cautiously. Draco smiled a wide, winning smile, seeming to do the best he could to turn that famous Malfoy charm up to eleven. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Scion Cuffe. I am Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy. My lovely friend here is Ares Black, Heiress of the Founding House of Black.” Ares spotted Weasley’s eyes widen, though they were mostly hidden behind a book that she was very clearly hiding behind. Before she could think much on that, Draco was speaking again. “Say, do you mind if we sit here, Benedict?” Then, Draco paused, frowning in a clearly deliberate fashion. “If I may call you Benedict, of course.”

“Uh… sure,” the boy said, seeming a bit taken aback, “you can stay and… uh, you can both call me Ben or Benedict, if you’d like, Heir Malfoy, Heiress Black.”

Draco smiled. “Splendid! Do me a favour, Benedict. Please, call me Draco.”

_**A few hours later...** _

Calypso, Cassius and the Carrow twins had popped in for a bit right around the time that the trolley full of sweets and the like had arrived at their door. Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Charlotte and the four older students talked amiably while they all ate their fair share of sweets. Harry thought this year’s discussion while eating sweets was far more pleasant than last year’s. Vividly, he remembered how Charlus had essentially dragged him into a compartment with himself and Ron and tried, in his own, self-deluded way, to fix the relationship between them. It was so odd how quickly Charlus’s opinion could shift. In the span of a school year, Harry had gone from his long lost brother, to that Slytherin prat, to his reunited brother, to a dark wizard on the rise. Harry had no idea if Magical Britain knew of bipolar disorder, or whether magic somehow even prevented it, since he had yet to see any disabled magicals, but if it existed, Harry seriously thought that Charlus needed to be tested.

After a while, their older acquaintances returned to their own compartment, leaving Harry and his friends alone. Before Harry could join in the conversation between the three girls, he noticed something from the overhead compartment. A faint, bluish glow seemed to be emanating from his school bag, which he had kept separate from the shrunken trunk in the pocket of his robes. Carefully, Harry stood, pulling the enchanted piece of parchment from his bag in a manner that allowed nobody to see him with it. 

When he took his seat once more, he was grateful that Charlotte, who still sat beside him, was engrossed in her conversation with Daphne and Tracey. Granted, her eyes did flick towards Harry, but when she saw he was simply holding a piece of parchment, she lost interest quickly enough. Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to know that Harry rarely did anything innocuous. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who just shook his head in return. As he unfolded the bit of parchment, Harry reflected that it was almost as if his thoughts had summoned his brother. Then again, perhaps the trolley had found Charlus’s compartment and his brother had simply shared the same thought. 

Or, apparently not, seeing as it wasn’t even Charlus who was writing to him.

_Harry, it’s James.  
I realized during a break from work today that Charlus left this at home. I wanted to check if you were alright and on the train, since your brother seems to have decided to go off the rails a bit._

Harry frowned. Truthfully, he had no interest in speaking to James in any capacity. Any trust that had existed between the two of them had shattered, and Harry was fairly certain it would never be repaired. Still, he could at least pretend he cared and reap the benefits, at least for now. Until he found a way to gain a position in which James would have no control over him anymore. And honestly, James’s message had actually been rather Slytherin. Harry was too naturally curious. He couldn’t not ask what his idiotic brother had done this time. He figured there was a good chance that James was simply seizing an opportunity to talk to him, but he ignored the fact that he was practically feeding into his plan.

_I’m perfectly fine, thank you. What has Charlus done this time?_

Then, Harry’s eyes widened in astonishment as he realized that his father may have just been genuinely concerned. Harry also felt rather insulted that his father would ever think such idiocy a possibility for him, but he crushed that emotion ruthlessly. He was feeling too much shock to deal with much else, after all.

_Apparently, he decided to take the Weasley’s flying car from the parking at King’s Cross and fly it to Hogwarts whilst Arthur and Molly saw their kids off to school. Ron went with him. I have half a mind to send a team of HIT wizards after them, but I promised Arthur I’d keep his car low-key, and that would almost definitely lead to a formal investigation by the DMLE._

_I just wanted to check that one of my sons turned out a bit more like their mother._

Harry would have frowned, even scowled at James’s casual reference to his mother. Was he seriously trying that technique again in an effort to get Harry to open up? But at the moment, he was more concerned with folding the parchment, stuffing it into his robes and burying his head in his hands before furiously rubbing at his temples.

“What’s got you in such a twist?” Blaise asked, and Harry suspected the boy’s eyes had never left him. Suddenly, the attention of the others in the compartment were all on Harry and he sighed, leaning back against his seat and looking skyward, as if the heavens may present him with a feasible explanation for how some people were just born with absolutely no common sense.

“Stupid people give me a headache.” he muttered, drawing raised eyebrows from the other four. “Apparently, the dimwitted duo of my brother and Ron Weasley decided it was a great idea to steal a flying car and fly it to Hogwarts instead of taking the train like the rest of us mere mortals.”

Ringing silence permeated the compartment following Harry’s proclamation. “Differing circumstances or not,” Daphne muttered darkly, “I do not understand how the two of you are related.”

Charlotte just looked between all four of them. “Please tell me not every Gryffindor is that much of an idiot.”

“No,” Blaise responded dryly, “certainly not. Just most of them.” In spite of himself, Harry joined his four friends in a fit of laughter.

_**Hours later, at Hogwarts...** _

As Harry and his friends, except Charlotte, who had joined the other first years in riding across the Black Lake, stepped out of the seemingly self-propelled carriage they occupied, Tracey shot an odd, tragic look towards the carriages. Harry peered speculatively towards her, but she shot him an “I’ll tell you later” sort of look, and Harry just shrugged. As the four of them neared the Entrance Hall. Harry spotted Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle just ahead of them. They appeared to be talking about Charlus Potter. Or, to be more precise, his mysterious absence from the Hogwarts Express. 

Remembering exactly how all of Gryffindor House had leered and hissed at him at the end of last year, Harry suddenly saw a rather perfect path to retribution. Of course, he would never rat out his darling brother to his father’s least favourite professor, but he certainly knew someone who just might. Quickening his pace to end up just behind the Slytherin quintette, Harry spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to the group in front of them. 

“I still can’t believe the nerve of my brother.” he told Blaise beside him in an exasperated voice. He could have smirked when he saw Malfoy’s step hitch for just a moment. Fortunately, Blaise seemed to know exactly where Harry was going with this as, with a sideways wink the Slytherins ahead of them couldn’t see, he responded.

“It is honestly impressive the lengths your brother will go to in order to stand out. I mean, flying a car to Hogwarts for a bit of publicity…” Draco’s posture went ramrod stiff at Blaise’s proclamation and Harry shot Blaise a quick grin as they all entered the Great Hall. Sure enough, Malfoy’s first action upon entering the hall was to beeline straight towards the staff table and more specifically, their Head of House, Professor Snape.

As Harry and his friends took seats at the Slytherin table, far further from the end than last year, in fact, Harry watched as Malfoy conversed with Snape. A minute or so later, Snape nodded curtly, swept to his feet and exited the hall, black robes billowing typically behind him. 

“That was delightfully cunning of you, Harry.” Blaise said approvingly, toasting Harry with one of the empty glasses that sat in front of each student, waiting to be filled when the feast began in full force. 

Harry tilted his head, a perfect look of innocence imprinted upon his visage. “Cunning, Blaise? I’ve no idea what you’re on about.” 

Blaise smiled knowingly back at him before, all of a sudden, the door off the hall swung open and Professor McGonagall entered, leading the newest crop of Hogwarts first years up towards the center of the hall. 

Charlotte was standing at the very back of the line, clearly destined to be the final student sorted. Seeing as her name started with a “W” this wasn’t overly surprising. Standing right in front of her was another student that Harry recognized. Of course, that flaming red hair was hard to miss, and Harry was reasonably sure that even if he had never seen the girl before today, he’d still have managed to make the correct assumption that she was a Weasley. The other figure that Harry recognized was on the complete opposite end of the spectrum to Charlotte in this case. In other words, she was the very first student in line. Ares Black stood out quite easily as a result of her heavily lidded eyes, long, straight black hair and sharp, aristocratic features. 

When the new first year students had all congregated in front of the staff table, Professor McGonagall placed the spindle legged stool in front of them and rested the ancient Sorting Hat atop the equally old piece of furniture. Then, a moment later, a brim on the hat opened and it began to sing.

“There was a time long years ago when I did not exist.  
Instead, four great sorcerers sorted students, for they could not resist  
The urge to differentiate and set themselves apart.  
This however, laid the basis for them to depart.  
‘Twas Gryffindor who made me, and that time I still remember  
And still now, many years later, I sing at the dawn of each September.  
‘Tis my job to sort the first years each and every year  
But I try and speak some wisdom that I hope all students hear.  
First, I shall enlighten those all who may be new  
And then, I shall tell you all the traps unknowingly laid out for you.

First there is Gryffindor, where dwell those most pure of heart  
‘Tis their daring, nerve and chivalry which sets Gryffindors apart.  
Students of this house must be more than simply brave  
lest they find themselves wrecked, a foolhardy knave

Next there is Ravenclaw, where intellect rules the roost  
If knowledge is your end goal, then I offer you a boost.  
Yes indeed, if it is knowledge you desire  
The house of wise old Ravenclaw will help you so acquire

Thirdly there is Hufflepuff, the den of Badgers true  
Calling out those of honor through and through  
Following their founder’s ways of hard work and toil,  
Those Puffs are always loyal.

Finally, the house of cunning and ambition  
It baffles me how the house has suffered such division  
For wise old Slytherin was great, noble and insightful  
It would cause him great pain the way some look upon his disciples.

At Hogwarts, one’s house is like their family  
Within this school, there should be no greater force than unity.  
I must sort you by your values, and that I must adhere to  
But in my eyes, it is not one's values, but one’s choices which define you.  
Open your eyes, look around, and please do heed my song  
Judging by one's values is far, far worse than wrong.  
At one time, the four houses were as one, as all values came together  
But alas, centuries later, the four were torn asunder. 

Conflict, hate and enmity are truly heinous things  
It is my belief, in fact that they shall be our great undoing.  
So enjoy the world, for it is great, but not so everlasting.  
But alas, I shall not ramble on, it is high time that I get sorting!”

When the hat concluded its song, the hall burst into its customary applause. Personally, Harry thought it was a rather deep song for the opening of the term, but he was no poet by any means. When the applause died down, McGonagall called the first student‘a name, and Harry leaned forward in his chair, eager to gauge the overall reaction to the Black Heiress’s arrival.

“Black, Ares.”

Immediately, a hush fell over the hall. The silence was nowhere near as absolute as it had been last year when Charlus had stepped forward, but it was similar to the reaction Harry himself had received. The difference now, however, was in the atmosphere. When Harry had stepped forward exactly one year earlier, the hall had been permeated by an air of curiosity. Now, an almost oppressive tension settled over the gathered students as the regal looking first year strode confidently forward with a completely blank expression and took her seat on the stool. There was a delay of about twenty seconds, which was honestly longer than Harry had expected before the hat declared the Black Heiress a Slytherin.

As a matter of fact, the next student was also sorted into Slytherin. Benedict Cuffe, his name had been. Then, a mousy-haired boy called Colin Creevey went to Gryffindor and the sorting continued from there. 

Brandon Harper was the next student sorted into Slytherin, though he was quickly followed by another, one that caused a hush to fall over the Slytherin table. 

Martin Higgs was sorted into Slytherin very quickly, and the house of cunning took a minute to ponder the implications of such a thing. As he stepped towards the table, Harry noticed that several members of Gryffindor House were booing and hissing. The Weasley twins seemed to be the ring leaders, though Tobias Prichard and his group of friends, the same group that had tried to attack Harry last year, were prevalent as well. Harry could understand house rivalries, but their insensitivity was a bit over the top, in his opinion.

Several others joined Slytherin as the sorting progressed. Alex Jugson, the younger brother of Marcus, who was a Slytherin upperclassman, was the first. Then, Derrick Mulciber was sorted almost as soon as the hat had touched his head. This too caused some tension in the hall, and Harry figured he must have been a member of one of the families within Voldemort’s ranks judging by the reaction to Ares and the similarities between the two reactions. He supposed that the Blacks technically never had been, but her mother had been rumoured to be a follower of Voldemort for years, and her mother’s brother-in-law and ex-husband had both been convicted of the most heinous of crimes.

The sorting continued for some time before there were only two girls remaining, and they juxtaposed one another quite spectacularly. The first was Ginny Weasley, and the second was Charlotte Weitts. 

One was from a family that had lived in Magical Britain for generations but was poor and open about the fact. The other was from a second or third generation British family that was extremely wealthy and even more secretive. Even their mannerisms and appearance were in contrast with one another. Ginny was slumped, head low, eyes cast to the floor as her hands shook at her side. Charlotte had her chin up, looking around the hall curiously and showing no signs at all of worry, holding her hands folded in front of her. Ginny was rather short, with flaming red hair and secondhand robes. Charlotte was tall for a first year girl, had perfect platinum hair that shone in the candle light and wore immaculate robes of the highest quality. 

Finally, McGonagall cleared her throat once more and called the second to last name on the long roll of parchment. 

“Weasley, Ginevra.”

Ginny made her way up towards the stool on shaky legs. Internally, she marvelled at the oxymoron that was her mind. For so many years, she had dreamed of this moment, of attending Hogwarts. But now that she had arrived, she was utterly terrified by the prospect of resting the Sorting Hat upon her head. In spite of that, Ginny found herself on the stool faster than she’d have liked and within seconds, her vision was obscured by the ancient hat and a moment later, a voice spoke from inside the depths of her mind.

_‘Hmm… interesting, very interesting indeed. You are rather more difficult than I had expected, Miss Weasley.’_

Ginny did her best to express the equivalent of a sigh mentally. _‘I’m a Weasley, we all know where I’m off to.’_

The hat chuckled. _‘Your brothers have been quite tight-lipped about their own sortings, I see.’_

Ginny stiffened. _‘What do you mean?’_

 _‘I am forbidden from speaking of the sorting of others, Miss Weasley. For now, it is suffice to say that your brothers were not quite as clear sorts as you may have thought.’_ the hat paused. _‘Except for the youngest. There was only one place for him, but I offered the others all choices at the very least.’_

_‘Choices?’_

_‘I had hoped you would listen closely to my song, Miss Weasley.’_ the hat chided. _‘I am to sort you by your values, but that is a… loose bit of terminology, we shall say. As I have said, it is my belief that our choices are what truly define us. So, with that in mind, for cases like yourself where the sorting process is more… complex than average, I usually leave the choice up to you. I will, of course, give you the options and arm you with what you need to know to choose correctly before I do so. So, let us begin, if you have no objections.’_

Ginny had none.

_‘Well, let us get the obvious one out of the way, shall we? You, Ginny, are much like the rest of your family. You are brave to a fault and would fit effortlessly into the mould of a true Gryffindor. I will admit, you are closer in persona to your related set of twins than most may realize. You are a bit more… flexible, in terms of your morals, but they are still strong and sound and your heart is in the right place. You would simply go a bit further than some of your other brothers to achieve your goals. Still, I would say you have enough chivalry to meet that requirement as well.’_

Ginny had absolutely no idea how to take any of that. On one hand, she was qualified for Gryffindor, which meant she could join the rest of her family and fit in as normal. On the other, she was less morally sound than her brothers?

The sorting hat chuckled once more. _‘Tis not a bad thing, Miss Weasley. Most of the greatest sorcerers the world has ever seen were willing to push the moral boundaries more than most others.’_ the hat chuckled again. _‘I, of course, would know, as I have sorted many of them. But alas, back to your dilemma._

 _‘The only house that I would dare eliminate is Ravenclaw. Do not take this the wrong way, Miss Weasley. You are intelligent, very much so, as a matter of fact. But it does not drive you. You will do the best you can, but knowledge is not the most important thing to you. You just wish to be happy… to be free.’_ Ginny nodded subconsciously. It was true, though she would have thought everybody wanted to be happy. The bit about being free, however… that cut a little bit too deep.

 _‘What do you mean free?’_ Then, another thought crossed her mind. _‘Wait! The only house you would eliminate is Ravenclaw? Than that means-‘_

_‘All in good time, Miss Weasley. All in good time. Now, Hufflepuff is actually a very suitable destination for you. You are fiercely loyal, more so than any I have thus far sorted this year, as a matter of fact. Keeping with that train of thought, your work ethic is outstanding. You have worked quite hard to develop those admirable skills of yours on a broom over the years, haven’t you?’_

Ginny flushed. Her mother had never let her anywhere near a broom ever since she was young. She had always thought the fact would change when she grew older, but thus far, that had not been the case. So, Ginny had learned many years ago how to unlock the shed. It had been accidental at first, but after many hours of experimentation in the dead of the night, Ginny could effectively and consistently unlock the shed door without a wand or any other instrument of aid. 

_‘Ah, yes,’_ the sorting had admired, _‘that wandless magic of yours is very impressive. True, it is limited to one spell, but my word, what a practical spell to have in your arsenal. Even then, it is far more than most witches and wizards ever master without their wand.’_ Ginny was internally panicking. If the hat told anybody about her breaking into the shed, or about her wandless magic…

_‘Don’t fret, Miss Weasley. As I have told you, I cannot reveal the secrets of those I have sorted. Now, allow your mind to be at ease while we explore your final potential avenue.’_

_‘Slytherin.’_ Ginny thought in the mental equivalent of a whisper.

 _‘Indeed.’ the hat agreed. ‘You could be successful in any of the three houses I’ve recommended, Miss Weasley, but I truly believe you could shine in the house of cunning. You have certainly shown enough of it over your life with that deceptive wandless magic of yours.’_ the hat paused. _‘And there is ambition there, oh yes there is. And out of the three houses, Slytherin is the only one that would help you achieve your true goal.’_

_‘My… true goal?’_

_‘You wish to escape the shadow of your family, Ginevra. You do not wish to be another Weasley. You wish for the Weasleys to be Ginny Weasley’s family.’_

_‘No! I would never-‘_

_‘It is not a bad thing, Miss Weasley. As a matter of fact, it is a very powerful motivator. But in order for it to fuel you to do great things, you must first accept the fact as it is.’_ Neither Ginny nor the hat communicated anything for more than a minute. Then, finally, Ginny asked what she would later look at as the question that changed her life. 

_‘Why is Slytherin the only house that would help me achieve my goal?’_

Harry’s brow was furrowed as he watched the youngest member of the Weasley family sitting upon the stool. Neville Longbottom’s sorting the previous year had taken quite some time, as had Hermione Granger’s and, ironically, his own. Still, he had never seen the hat take this long with anybody. He’d read in Hogwarts, A History that it was possible. The hat could take long periods of time with a student. If the student in question took more than five minutes, they were referred to as a “Hat Stall”. Still, it was going on seven minutes now, and Harry wondered how much longer it would take.

The answer, as it turned out, was approximately three seconds.

Finally, the brim of the hat opened wide for all to see, and it shouted to the entire hall the last word that anybody would have expected the ancient hat to shout.

“SLYTHERIN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So at long last, we have arrived back at Hogwarts!**
> 
> **Originally, this chapter stretched on for another 3k (ish) words. I decided to push them into the next chapter instead of this one here, mainly for the sake of trying to balance the length of the chapters. I know this is a bit of an odd place to end a chapter, but the next one will pick up pretty much right where this one left off.**
> 
> **A special thank you to my beta Fezzik for being a great help with the original sorting song. Poetry is definitely my weakest literary skill, but I decided to give it a go since Rowling never made one for year 2.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 1st, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	8. Schemes and Sortings Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**September 1, 1992  
The Great Hall at Hogwarts  
7:34 PM** _

Harry could not remember a time when the Great Hall had ever been this quiet. In the moments following the Sorting Hat’s shocking proclamation that sent Ginny Weasley to Slytherin, one would be able to hear a pin drop anywhere in the Great Hall. Slowly, ever so slowly, as Ginny Weasley began to make her way towards the other Slytherin first years seated at the far end of the table, the muttering began. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, it began from the Gryffindor table and spread outwards through the hall. In all fairness, even the Slytherins were muttering. Harry caught a glimpse of Parkinson and Malfoy, both of whom looked as if they suddenly realized they had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Harry too, was surprised. He could not honestly say that he knew any member of the Weasley clan well, but he had certainly pegged them as a universally Gryffindor family. Then, he realized exactly how hypocritical that sounded.

After all, the reaction Ginny Weasley was getting was not all that different than the one he himself had received. 

As the small red-headed girl neared the Slytherin table, looking exceedingly nervous each and every step of the way, the booing and cat-calls began to emanate from the Gryffindor table. Harry did notice that none of the Weasley clan were partaking in it, but he felt for Ginny right about now. Not only for the booing, but for the fact that she looked wholly and completely overwhelmed. As Ginny finally took her seat at the Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall mercifully spared her at long last by calling the final and, to Harry, the most interesting, yet least mysterious name of all.

“Weitts, Charlotte.”

In contrast to Ginny, Charlotte looked like royalty as she sauntered up to the stool. Her hands were held loosely in front of her and her face was a perfect mask of calm. Not a single hair was out of place as she neared the stool. This time, it was the Slytherins who were muttering, and the overall sentiment at the silver and green table was universal.

Another Weitts in Slytherin?

Despite the high interest at the Slytherin table, Charlotte’s sorting turned out to be much less dramatic than Ginny’s. Within thirty seconds of being on her head, the Sorting Hat had loudly proclaimed her a Slytherin. Showing emotion for the first time throughout the whole process, Charlotte allowed a bright, radiant smile to spread across her face as she made her way towards the Slytherin table. 

That was where the drama began for each and every member of Slytherin house.

It was an unwritten rule within Slytherin house that first years sat at the far end of the table unless openly endorsed by an older student. On the first night, that was not even an option. This was made obvious by the fact that every single Slytherin first year was sitting in perfect alphabetical order at the far left end of the Slytherin table. And it was very clear that Charlotte knew this. In fact, she even took the time to glance at all of the first years and politely incline her head.

Right before marching further up the table seemingly without a care in the world.

As Charlotte drew near, Blaise was the first to realize what was about to happen. Thankfully, there was an open seat a few students down, and he began to bully the nearest students out of their seats so he could leave an open spot between himself and Harry. Then, with the attention of the entire hall upon her, Charlotte dropped confidently down into the seat beside Harry with her smile still perfectly in place. 

Even the rest of the hall were muttering at the oddity. They had not been foolish enough to miss both the obvious seating pattern at the Slytherin table and the rather tense reaction to the house’s newest first year’s choice of seat. The rest of the hall did not quite understand the extent of the move though.

This was the equivalent of Charlotte saying that she cared not for the policies of the house. This was essentially an open challenge for somebody to do something about it.

And for now, at least, nobody moved a muscle to stop her.

Harry wondered just how much leeway Charlotte’s surname would give her until Grace graduated at the end of the year, and hoped it kept up like this and did not make her a target. If that natural protection began to fade, Harry was going to have a long year. Charlotte had made it blatantly obvious that she was not exactly going to keep the lowest of profiles, and Harry internally groaned at how difficult and dangerous his agreement with Grace could become. He really wished that they had practiced some combat magic over the summer. The Occlumency training was great, and he was about to begin the second level of Occlumency, but if this kept up, he would need the practice very, very soon.

The tension in the hall was broken once more when Dumbledore swept to his feet, wearing vibrant red robes trimmed and dotted with white that shone alongside his beard in the low candlelight of the hall. His smile was infectious and Harry may have fallen for what he now suspected to be a facade had he not wanted to wrap that beard around the headmaster’s throat and forcefully strangle him with it. 

Harry very much doubted that he would ever forgive James. If that much was true, he was completely and utterly certain that he would never forgive Dumbledore. 

Speaking of Dumbledore, loathe the man as Harry might, he still had to very grudgingly admire the fact that Dumbledore’s mere presence could silence a hall that had been in complete uproar only moments earlier.

“The time for rambling draws near.” Dumbledore told the hall with his customary twinkle on full display. “But the time for food has first arrived. Bon Appetit!”

Harry heard Charlotte sigh from beside him as the heaping plates of food arrived. It was only then that he realized her perfectly composed demeanour was likely an act. “How does it feel?” he asked her quietly, sparing her a rare, warm smile as she tiredly returned the expression, though her eyes still gleamed with what Harry was sure she counted as a major victory.

“Exactly as perfect as I’d always imagined.” Charlotte said with a smile. “I’m sure you’re relieved as well.” she commented. “Imagine how miserable you’d be after spending the summer with me if I had been a Gryffindor.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “I don’t know what’s more amusing.” he told her. “The fact that you seem to think I wouldn’t survive without you, or the image of you sitting beside Ronald Weasley wearing red robes.”

Charlotte made a face. “Red robes would go terribly with my hair and eyes.” she pointed out. When Harry just rolled his own eyes, Charlotte smiled that sweet, trademarked smile of hers. “Admit it, Harry. You’re glad I’m in Slytherin.”

Harry was very reserved about laughing in public, but he did allow a wide grin to spread across his face in spite of himself. “You’re right, Charlotte,” he admitted, figuring it was best tonight to just let her have her moment, “we’re glad to have you.”

_**Meanwhile, outside the Castle...** _

All in all, Charlus had experienced a rather dreadful day. When he had first proposed the idea of flying a car to Hogwarts, he would be lying if he did not admit to being extremely excited. At the time, that thought brought forth visions of grandeur, enjoyment and a grandiose arrival that would leave the students of Hogwarts gushing on for years to come. In truth, he and Ron had experienced seven long, agonizing hours with the sun beating forcefully down on them as they sailed aimlessly after the Hogwarts Express without any exciting ways to pass the time.

As dull as that all had been, Charlus would have happily gone through another seven hours of all of it to spare the two of them from what came next. In the aforementioned images of grandeur that Charlus had conjured up in his mind’s eye hours earlier, there certainly had not been any of them that featured them getting knocked out of the sky by a tree that somehow moved. Worse than moving was the fact that the tree seemed to only be able to move with one purpose in mind.

Attack.

Certainly, another one of Charlus’s images had not been of Ron and him, cowering in a car, as the violent excuse for a tree seemed to do its absolute best at collapsing the roof on top of them. 

Fortunately for the both of them, the car too seemed to have a mind of its own. It managed one last, desperate spurt of energy that was enough to carry them out of range of the tree. 

Moments later, the car rudely deposited the two boys and their luggage right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest before,with a rather indignant sounding honk of its horn, it took off, seemingly to find refuge somewhere within the depths of the black forest itself. If it wasn’t bad enough that the two of them had been knocked out of the air and were sporting several minor injuries a piece, it was certainly bad enough to lose the now heavily damaged flying car that Charlus had helped steal from his best friend’s parents. And of course, the icing on the cake was the fact that said best friend seemed to have a next to useless stick in place of a wand.

“Well,” Charlus muttered sheepishly as both boys seemed at a loss for what to say, “at least this night can’t get any worse.”

“For future reference, Incompetent Potter,” came a harsh yet amused sounding drawl from behind them, “I would advise you to perhaps leave the gods of irony unchallenged in the future.”

‘Sure,’ Charlus thought bitterly, marvelling at his misfortune as he turned to face the rather smug-looking visage of his least favourite Hogwarts professor, ‘why not? It’s not like everything else has gone wrong today or anything.’

_**Some time later, back in the Great Hall...** _

As the plates of dessert finally cleared, leaving dozens of Hogwarts students groaning in satisfaction at their now full stomachs, Harry wondered absentmindedly if Snape had found his brother. Judging by the fact that neither of them had returned to the hall since Snape’s departure some time ago, he would presume he had. Dumbledore and McGonagall’s brief absence also added to that suspicion though by now, both of them had been back for some time.

Now, Dumbledore was standing once more, and Harry seriously debated clearing his mind simply so he wouldn’t have to deal with the wave of fury that crashed against his consciousness as Dumbledore graced them all with a deceptively benign smile.

“My favourite part of each and every year at Hogwarts.” the Headmaster began fondly. “It is always so great to see each of you at the start of term, all looking so healthy, eager and rejuvenated. In saying that, I understand that you are not as excited to see me and am sure you would much rather see your beds, so I will do my best to be prompt with the necessary matters of business that must be taken care of.

“Our new crop of first years should note that the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the grounds is, as the name implies, forbidden to all students.” His eyes flicked briefly towards the Gryffindor table as he spoke, but he did not comment on the fact. “Our caretaker, Mister Filch, has asked me to remind each of you that magic is not to be performed in the corridors. For a rather expansive, more comprehensive list of other such offences, there is a list of somewhere north of two-hundred offences that is prominently displayed in Mister Filch's office for all of your reading pleasures.

“Quidditch tryouts will be held during the second and third weekends of term depending on which house you so proudly belong to. All interested candidates should submit their names to their Head of House as soon as possible. 

“And finally, we have two new professors joining our esteemed staff this year!” Harry’s brow rose, though he did not join in the tumult of chatter that erupted at Dumbledore’s proclamation. “Firstly, we have Professor Ashley, who will be filling in for Professor Sinistra as the Astronomy professor this year while dear Aurora enjoys a rather well deserved sabbatical.” A red-headed woman near the end of the staff table waved a bit shyly out at the mass of students, but many of them were paying her no mind. 

Indeed, most of the eyes in the hall had come to rest on the more obvious addition to the staff. 

“And our second and final new addition comes in the form of Professor Lockhart.” Dumbledore said with a smile. “He will be putting his many talents and wealth of experience to good use as he educates all of you in the finer points of Defense Against The Dark Arts.” 

When his name was called, Lockhart swept gracefully to his feet, treating the entire student body to a rather blinding smile that seemed to cast his bright blue robes to shame. After taking a deep, theatrical bow, Lockhart retook his seat and Dumbledore, who seemed amused by the entire display, yawned before smiling tiredly out at all of the gathered students.

“Well, I know you are all yearning for the comforts of your beds and for the end to my ramblings. Allow me to grant both of those wishes simultaneously.” With that, the benches all seemed to scrape back at once as everybody climbed to their feet. 

Harry stood, almost forgetting Charlotte was beside him until they were standing. The fifth year prefects, Cassius and Calypso, funnily enough, were calling the first years to join them. Harry rose a brow towards Charlotte, obviously asking her whether or not she would follow the prefects or disregard tradition once more. In response, Charlotte simply smiled back at him. “Come on, Harry?” she said mockingly. “Surely you don’t think I would just ignore a prefect.” Then, with a mock glare, Charlotte spun on her heel, marching towards the prefects with her head held high. 

“This is going to be a very interesting year.” Daphne deadpanned darkly. Her eyes too were following Charlotte as she spoke. At least she hadn’t promised her older sister that she would protect her. Suddenly, Harry wasn’t sure all of the training in the world would be worth it. 

Charlotte was not going to make his life easy.

“It certainly doesn’t seem as interesting as the last.” Blaise chimed in as they began to make their way out of the hall. As he spoke, Harry noticed that Blaise actually managed to sound disappointed. “There wasn’t even a warning about a very painful death this time.”

“Personally,” Harry said in a voice low enough not to carry past the ears of his three friends, “I think I can handle going a year without coming anywhere near a very painful death, but that’s just me.” Blaise actually laughed but Daphne just glared at Harry. She did not seem to enjoy his darker jokes when they were at his own expense.

“She was being a bit bold though, wasn’t she?” Tracey asked in a whisper, very obviously in reference to Charlotte.

“She was.” Harry said quietly. “I… think she’ll be able to get away with it, at least at first.”

“That won’t last forever.” Daphne pointed out.

Harry nodded slowly as they finally drew close to the exit. “No,” he admitted, “it won’t.” 

When they exited the hall, Harry walked in the direction opposite the stairs leading down to the dungeons. Daphne called after him but instead, he simply gestured for his three friends to follow. Hesitant and perplexed, the trio obliged him, only to be led into the same antichamber that they had all occupied before their sorting. 

“What are we doing here?” Tracey asked as all of them, minus Harry, examined the room for the first time since the sorting a year earlier. 

In response, Harry just turned to a portrait of a rather ancient looking wizard and tapped it three times with his wand. Instantly, the full sized portrait swung to the side, revealing a hidden passageway that, of the four of them, only Harry had known was there. 

“Taking a shortcut.” he answered with a smirk at the gobsmacked look on Tracey’s face. “I would’ve just come in here through the door off the hall, but it was a bit too crowded to try and fight the herd.” He smirked more broadly in the direction of Tracey and Daphne, doing his best to portray a demeanour of complete and total smugness. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said offhandedly, “if the two of you had come with me for all of those exploring sessions early last year, you’d know about this passage. It was actually one of the first ones I found while at Hogwarts.” Daphne and Tracey both glared at him as Blaise whistled, being the first one to follow Harry through the tunnel.

“Not bad.” he commended. “I know about the one me and you used to listen in on the Terrors, but how many other tricks do you have up your sleeve, my friend?”

“Enough.” Harry answered with that same, arrogant smirk. 

A minute or so later, the four of them came out rather close to the Slytherin common room. “How are we all supposed to know the password?” Harry asked absentmindedly as they drew close to the common room. 

“There is no password.” said a familiar voice from behind them. When they turned, Grace, her best friend Rhea, and some of her other acquaintances were on their tails. “The password is never set until the fifth year Prefects arrive with the first years.” Grace elaborated. “There is a reason that they always take the longest possible route, you know?”

Harry nodded; it made sense that they would give the rest of the house ample amounts of time to enter the common room before they deposited the new crop of students and closed the entrance along with them. There was a moment when Harry’s eyes met with Grace’s and he had to stop himself from calling her by her first name. “Good to know. Thanks, Weitts.” Grace nodded, gesturing for Harry and his friends to go ahead. 

Minutes later, the four of them entered the common room. All four of them immediately made to go off in the direction of the dorms, but Grace caught Harry’s eye and very subtly shook her head. 

He had to pause and think. It was clear she was signifying that it was best if he stayed in the common room, but why? As a matter of fact, there were several students staying behind, not counting Grace and her entourage. 

Harry nodded as subtly as he could manage while meeting her eye, ushering Blaise on ahead to bed before he silently crept back into the common room, taking a seat rather near the lounge occupied by Grace and her friends. Then, he waited, wishing rather intensely that he had a book of some kind to occupy his time. Instead, he cleared his mind and went through the process of searching for any irregularities, even though there were none. Well, unless one counted the still sizzling anger that had been brought on by the sight of the Hogwarts Headmaster, but Harry did not.

Thankfully, Slytherin House was, for the most part, punctual. At least when they knew that it was in their best interests to show a degree of punctuality. This allowed for Cassius and Calypso not to take too much time with the first years and before Harry knew it, Charlotte and the rest were entering the common room. Harry watched Charlotte, and observed how her eyes roamed hungrily over every square inch of the common room before briefly resting on her sister and to Harry’s mild surprise, himself. 

“Good evening.” 

The first years, minus Charlotte, Ares and another tall, blonde girl all showed varying degrees of surprise at the silky smooth voice that seemed to come from nowhere. This time, Harry was not taken aback by the sudden appearance of his Head of House. He even snapped his eyes quickly enough over to the corner in which Snape had been lurking, evidently invisible, to see him shimmer into existence with an impassive look upon his visage. 

Harry didn’t really have a strong opinion on the man. He did not blatantly abuse Harry as he did Charlus, but he also did not show him the preferential treatment that the rest of Slytherin house received unconditionally. As a teacher, Snape was competent but not great. When he lectured, it was well done but when he set them to brewing, he typically seemed indifferent. All of that aside, there was one thing about Severus Snape that Harry, nor even Charlus, could deny.

He very obviously had a flair for the dramatics, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a trademarked sneer and everlasting blank expression.

“Welcome to the noble house of Salazar Slytherin.” Snape told the collected first years in little more than a whisper. “This house prides itself on cunning and ambition, and I expect each of you to follow those time honoured traits. Those of this house will strive for their goals unconditionally. They will do whatever they see fit to achieve such goals, and they will achieve great things that will later reflect positively upon the house as a whole.” his lip curled. “In saying so, members of this house will not, under any circumstances, rush into a given situation with the sole desire for glory. Members of this house will not stick their necks out onto the metaphorical chopping block simply to gain some… notoriety. The path to success is narrow and treacherous. In order to not fall off the path, one must maintain a critical balance and understand the risk versus the reward of every situation they willingly enter themselves into. Only by doing so will you find that success is achievable.”

Harry’s sentiment about Snape’s dramatic flair only grew as the man went on. He also could not help but notice that Snape seemed to be putting more effort into this batch of first years than he had when Harry and his yearmates had first entered the snake pit. The fact did not bother Harry. In fact, it invoked no emotional response at all. Still, it was interesting; an inconsistency in a man who seemed to make the very possibility of inconsistencies seem impossible.

“But, I suppose,” Snape went on, a glint in his eyes, “that in order to achieve success, one must understand what success really is.” 

From there, the Potions Master made a show of asking each first year in turn to answer the question, “What is success?” 

The answers ranged from financial security, to true happiness, to everything in between. Charlotte had answered that success was gaining a position of power, one where you could not be controlled. Personally, that would have been Harry’s answer a year ago, but for very different reasons. Still, Snape gave no reaction, and Harry had the feeling he was looking for something a bit less… personalized.

“Potter!” Snape suddenly snapped, and Harry nearly jumped out of his chair as his name was called. Still, he looked up and met Snape’s eyes steadily, trying not to show how annoyed or surprised he was at being called upon while the man was supposed to be lecturing the first years. 

“Sir?”

“What, Potter, in your estimation, is success?”

Harry took a long, hard minute to ponder Snape’s question, acutely aware that every first year’s gaze was fast upon him. He wondered how many of them were curious about him and how many of them actually cared about his answer. After several moments, he decided to follow his earlier train of thought. Perhaps it was not what Snape was looking for, but at the very least, it would give nothing away. 

“I don’t think a specific answer can be given, Professor.” When Snape clearly wanted more, Harry elaborated. “All of us have different goals. If we didn’t, ambition would be pointless. I think that success is achieving whatever goals you set for yourself. It also ties in to happiness, since that’s one of the only things I can think of that makes everyone happy no matter what.”

Snape did not speak for somewhere between five and ten seconds. Then, he did something that actually surprised Harry more than being called upon at all. “Five points to Slytherin, Mister Potter, for a very… enlightened explanation.” Harry could only remember one other time when Snape had given him points. That had been exactly one day short of a year ago. Seeing as Harry had a near eidetic memory, that was saying a lot.

Snape turned to the students gathered before him. “As Mister Potter stated, ambition is fundamentally of no use if everyone’s ambitions are the same. Success is the fulfillment of one’s ambition, which is one of the things that makes it such a distinct pleasure to be sorted into the house.” As he said this, his eyes briefly rested on Ginny Weasley, who flinched back noticeably. Harry could have winced for her. She would have to learn and evolve fast, lest she get eaten alive by the metaphorical pit of vipers that was Slytherin House as a whole.

“As such,” Snape continued, his voice rising in volume as he prepared to end his lecture, “each and every single one of you will strive to achieve your goals and by extension, be a credit to the house you were sorted into.” He took a moment to look pensively at each first year in turn. “Failure to do so will lead to my… displeasure.” 

With that parting message, Snape whirled, causing his robes to billow as he swept straight out of the Slytherin common room, leaving a herd of rather dumbstruck first years behind. Moments later, Calypso and Cassius stepped forward again and began the process of escorting the first years to their respective dormitories. Harry thought about leaving as well, but instinctively, he knew that his night was not yet over.

Charlotte walked in silence as she followed the older girl she had met weeks earlier in Diagon Alley towards her new dormitory. When Calypso wished the first years a goodnight and exited the room, Charlotte sighed and let her eyes roam freely. It was certainly much less luxurious than what she was accustomed to, but it was by no means unsuitable. There was plenty of free space and each of the beds looked warm, comfortable and inviting. Charlotte’s trunk was at the foot of her bed, but she didn’t need it tonight. Instead, she pulled a bag from her pocket that could fit easily in the palm of her hand, put it on her bed and enlarged it to normal size with a tap of her wand. 

Before she could remove her pyjamas and change into them, a clearing of a throat caught Charlotte off guard. Before her stood the only Slytherin girl taller than her from the year. She too had platinum blonde hair, though her eyes were a stormy grey. “You’re the youngest member of House Weitts, aren’t you?” the girl asked in a smooth, sophisticated voice. Charlotte nodded, examining her closely as she tried to put together who the girl was. She was familiar, but not intimately so. “Slater,” the other girl supplied, holding out her hand as she did so, “Laine Slater.” 

Charlotte nodded as she took the outstretched hand. Slater was another fairly new house to Magical Britain. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, she supposed. They were actually set to become an Ancient House quite soon, but they were nowhere near as old as many of the prestigious families that lorded over the nation. The Slaters had turned themselves into economic giants quite recently in spite of their relatively young age. Laine’s father, Henry had done wonders for the family’s economic prospects, and they had gained a fair bit of notoriety as a result. 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Charlotte said with a winning smile. “You are the heiress, then?” Laine had a twin brother named Arthur, and Charlotte honestly could not remember off the top of her head which of the two were the heir or heiress. Out of the two of them, Charlotte had only thus far met Laine, but she certainly carried herself with the admirable poise of a pureblood heiress. 

“I am, yes.” Laine said, smiling. “Mind if I take this one?” she asked, gesturing to the bed across from Charlotte’s. Charlotte had claimed the bed nearest the door, which was a fairly prime location in her estimation.

Charlotte shook her head, opening her bag and removing a pair of grey pyjamas made from sleek, acromantula silk. “Go right ahead.” she said politely, not paying her new counterpart a whole lot of mind. She caught Laine smile at her from the corner of her eye before walking over to her own bed. Before Charlotte could do more than unfold her night clothes, her ears perked up at a drawl from across the room. 

“What do you think, Weasley? Bit of a downgrade for me personally, but I’m sure this must seem like a manor home to you.” Charlotte glanced across the room and frowned. A girl that she had never met was smirking confidently at Weasley, who flushed as red as her hair under the pressure. The two of them were both rather short. Weasley was the more athletic looking of the two, though perhaps an inch or two shorter than her counterpart. Her fiery red hair stood out rather vividly, and Charlotte had to admit that it went well with her slate brown eyes. In contrast, her counterpart’s hair was a sleek black colour and it fell to right around her shoulderblades. Her eyes were every bit as dark as her hair, with their colouration resembling that of a block of cole.

To Weasley’s credit, she didn’t back down. When Charlotte had spotted her demeanour at the table, she had immediately taken her for a lost cause. She had been slumped, pale, and miserable looking. Now, she was bristling and she advanced on this other girl. Travers, Charlotte thought her surname was, and got right in her personal space.

“Keep your mouth shut about my family before I shut it for you!” Weasley hissed menacingly. 

To Travers’s credit, she did not give an inch. “I’ll speak how I’d like, thank you very much. A bit rich, you know? The youngest member of a blood traitor family trying to tell me what I can and can’t say.”

“I’d rather my family be called blood traitors than be in Azkaban!” Ginny hissed, and all at once, the energy in the room changed as the tension thickened. “At least I’ve met my parents.”

Travers flushed and quickly went for her wand, but luckily, Charlotte and Ares had the same idea.

“Expelliarmus!”

Charlotte’s spell struck Travers while Ares’s struck Ginny. Both girls promptly lost their wand and before anymore could come of the situation, Charlotte and Laine both stepped forward. Ares just scowled, looking as if she was more annoyed about being disturbed than anything else. As if to affirm the thought, she tossed Charlotte Ginny’s wand before retreating behind her curtains. After a minute or so, Charlotte could feel wards rise around the bed. In the meantime, she currently had a situation to defuse, because she was rather intent on sleeping, and this distraction was unacceptable. Laine beat her to the squabble, though.

“Can we just hold off on this for a bit?” she asked, clearly exasperated. “I’d like to sleep at some point, and I’d rather not have to curse somebody’s mouth shut.” 

Travers sneered, though Ginny did take a step back, even if she did not stop glaring forcefully at her counterpart. “Curse my mouth shut? I didn’t see you take out your wand. Stay out of it, Slater. I have no interest in hearing or listening to you right now.”

“What about me?” Charlotte asked, stepping directly in between Laine and Travers and looking down at the shorter girl with a blank expression and raised eyebrow. 

Travers opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. She could practically feel the magical tension radiating off of Charlotte and every bit of her was screaming to not oppose her. Travers scowled at Ginny one last time. “You’re lucky she decided to play bodyguard for the night, Weasley.” Travers held out her hand. “My wand, please?” Charlotte held it out to her, though she kept a firm grip on her own. The two girls locked eyes and Evelyn Travers nearly recoiled. 

The look on Charlotte’s face was very clear in its meaning. 

Curse me and find out what happens.

Evelyn took her wand and quickly scrambled towards her bed, closing the curtains. 

Charlotte turned to Ginny, who was now looking at the floor. “Here,” she told her, offering the smaller girl her wand. Ginny took it but did not meet her stare. As the two of them made their way back towards their beds, Charlotte whispered several final words to the youngest Weasley. “Watch yourself, Weasley. No need to make enemies already. Not if you don’t have a good reason, at least.”

_**Back in the Slytherin common room…** _

After Snape had left the room and Harry had pondered for a few minutes, he had decided to briefly return to his dormitory in order to fetch something to read. He wound up reading his compendium on Ancient Runes for quite some time. Only when he heard the final sounds of students leaving for their respective dormitories did Harry look up. As he had expected, the room was now essentially empty. The exceptions were Grace, who was still sitting in the lounge and, to Harry’s slight surprise, Rhea, the sixth year Slytherin girls’ Prefect. To Harry’s even greater surprise, Grace caught his eye and subtly gestured for him to join them. Harry had expected a conversation with Grace, but he had not actually considered that she would call him over to the rather symbolic collection of seats reserved for Slytherin’s elite. Nor did he think she would do so in the company of anybody else, not even Rhea who, from what Harry could tell, was by far her closest friend. 

Trying to mask all of these thoughts the best he could, Harry closed his book, packed it into his school bag, which he had also retrieved while up in the dorms, and made his way over to the two Slytherin Prefects, one sixth year, one seventh year. Of course, Grace was also the Head Girl, something that the shining badge pinned to the left of her chest made obvious. She still wore her Prefect’s Badge as well, though it was now pinned on the right side of her chest.

“Relax, Harry; neither of us bite.” Grace told him when he paused in front of them, gesturing to the spot on her left. Rhea was currently sitting to her right. Harry took the seat as instructed and took a moment to look at the common room from this perspective. Until now, he had never considered that he might one day end up in Grace’s position. Now, as he examined the common room from the perspective she always saw it from, he made a single promise to himself that one day, he would be sitting in her spot. 

Not because he had been invited to, but because he had forcefully seized it.

Of course, he was not delusional enough to think that would happen this year, or perhaps even next, but one day…

“Have you two ever met?” Grace asked, looking curiously from Harry to Rhea.

Harry shook his head, and Rhea answered verbally. “Not really. I escorted him to the common room last year and may have spoken to him a few other times throughout the year.” She leaned across Grace, extending her hand. “Rhea Pax, Heiress of House Pax. It’s nice to meet you.”

Harry took her hand, briefly greeting her formally. “Harry Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and all the rest. A pleasure to meet you.” Then, he looked at Grace. 

“You seem a bit surprised.” Rhea commented as the two leaned back in their seats once more, Harry still peering curiously at the girl in the middle.

Harry paused, wanting to carefully articulate his next sentence. “I was… under the impression that Grace and I were to continue as we had been last school year, at least while in public.”

“And we are,” Grace dismissed, “but this isn’t public, is it?”

Harry frowned. ”I don’t doubt Rhea’s trustworthiness and all the rest, but somebody could still just walk into the common room right now, could they not?”

“Of course they could.” Grace said as if it were obvious. “They could walk right in at any time… and see me and Rhea sitting here alone, reading.”

Harry blinked. “Um… how’d you manage that, exactly?”

“For what it’s worth,” Rhea said with a small smile, “I asked her the same question last year when she started doing it.”

Grace’s lips curved upwards. “It’s a magical illusion.” she explained to Harry. “Sort of a combination of wards and mind magic.”

“I… didn’t even know something like that was even possible.”

“Most people aren’t.” Grace said honestly. “It’s a pretty obscure technique. There are many variations of it. This is one that I created before my sixth year.” For the first time in his memory of Grace, she allowed just a touch of pride to invade her tone. Again, Harry was reminded of her younger sister, if vaguely. 

“That sounds… extremely complicated.”

Rhea sniffed. “You should see the Arithmancy.”

Harry winced. He really needed to start on that at some point this year. “I’ll pass for now.” he said, still mildly perplexed as to how natural Grace and Rhea were treating the whole situation.

“Have you figured out what’s gone on tonight?” Grace asked. Harry was sorely tempted to say something along the lines of, “the sorting”, but he knew that Grace was referencing everything with her specifically.

“You wanted me to stay and watch Snape talk to the first years to gather information, of some kind, for some reason that I haven’t completely figured out yet. Then, you wanted me to stay to explain the reasoning, or what information I was supposed to pick up on, or a combination of the two?”

Rhea whistled quietly. “Not bad.” she complimented, looking at Harry with a slightly heightened air of interest.

“Not at all.” Grace seconded. “You’re entirely correct, even if you’ve obviously not figured out the details. I wanted you to stay to observe the first years and how they answered the question. Snape always asks a question to the first years during the first night back. It’s usually something to do with the house traits. Something that promotes either cunning or ambition.”

Harry frowned. “He never asked anything last year.”

Grace frowned too, obviously trying to remember. “No,” she muttered quietly, “I suppose he didn’t.”

“That’s odd.” Rhea noted speculatively.

“It’s certainly interesting.” Grace agreed pensively. “Either way, he almost always, I suppose, asks a question to the first years. Questions like that let you get a gauge on them and what they may be after. At the very least, you’ll get a feel for the mask that they’ll wear, if they’re smart enough to not just spill their personal information.” 

Harry nodded. “That… actually makes a lot of sense.” his brow furrowed. “I’m still not entirely sure why you’re telling me all this, though. Or, why you had me do it in the first place. Not that it’s not useful. It was a good idea, but I’m not seeing a motive.”

Grace laughed softly as Rhea eyed him with an entirely new air about her. “I have said this once and I will say it again.” Grace told him. “You are the single, most paranoid child that I have ever met in my life.”

Harry shrugged. “If the hat fits, I guess.”

“I can promise you that I have no intention of leading you into anything that won’t benefit you in the long run.” Harry instantly knew that he was about to receive a half-truth. He also had a strong feeling that Grace was well-aware that she had just tipped him off. “I wanted you to try and get a gauge on the first years to see who may be a threat to my sister.” 

only affirmed Harry’s suspicion. Grace had not seemed concerned with the first years over the summer. It had been the likes of Macnair and Selwyn that had her worried. Still, Harry imagined there was some truth to it, though also some undertones that he was missing. 

Still, he did not reveal any of those thoughts. “I see,” he said, nodding along,”that makes some sense, I suppose.” He yawned, glancing towards his dorms. 

“You can go if you’re tired.” Grace told him, stretching her arms above her head. “I’m not far behind you, ihonestly.” She fixed him with a stare. “8:00 PM on Friday.”

Harry nodded as he stood to his feet, understanding the meaning well enough. “Works for me. Any ideas where yet?”

Grace took a minute to think and when she spoke, her voice carried too much significance for Harry to believe that it was a coincidence. “I’m honestly not entirely sure. I’m sure you can find a room that’s suitable. Away from prying eyes and out of the way, preferably. I’ve heard that you’re… quite knowledgeable about the secrets of the castle.” 

Harry nodded as he made his way back up towards his dorm. There was a tumult of thoughts crashing through his mind but one stuck out above all else.

Somehow, some way, Grace knew about the Speaker’s Den.

_**September 2, 1992  
The Grounds of Hogwarts  
6:43 AM** _

Harry had not slept well that first night back at Hogwarts. His mind had been far too preoccupied trying and failing to formulate how Grace could possibly know of the Speaker’s Den and what impact it would have on him and his friends. He was reasonably certain that she would never guess the password, but was it possible she could find another way of entering? Not that it was detrimental to him if she found it. He had nothing valuable in there or anything like that. But the room had become a fairly sentimental place for him, even though he had not yet spent a whole lot of time within it. It felt almost sacred at this point, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out how on earth Grace had managed to discover the room at all. 

In the end, he had decided that it was probably best for his mental stability if he gave his brain an opportunity to forget things as complex as his current dilemma. 

So instead, he’d made his way out onto the Hogwarts grounds and nicked one of the school brooms out of the shed. Technically, they weren’t supposed to be used by students without permission, but Harry highly doubted that anyone would check the grounds at this time of the morning, and it was all too easy to open the shed. In fact, he didn’t even bother using his wand to do so. Admittedly, the school brooms weren’t great. They were certainly a step down from the brooms he had ridden for most of the summer at Weitts Manor. The same could be said for the Comet 260 that he had taken out a few times while over at Daphne’s home. But still, there were few things that Harry enjoyed more than the wind whipping through his hair and the sensation of weightlessness that was brought on by flying.

He flew several laps at top speed around the lake before shooting off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. As he entered the stadium and flew straight through one of the goal hoops and out onto the pitch proper, Harry suddenly realized that he was not alone. 

There was another figure on a broom up ahead of him, though he was facing the opposite direction and had yet to notice Harry’s arrival. He was wearing Slytherin Quidditch robes, and the familiar number 5 was emblazoned on the back. With a jolt, Harry realized exactly who this was, and there was a moment where he pondered whether or not it was best to fly off. In the end, he decided against it and swooped up beside Cassius, giving the older Slytherin a rather nasty surprise that nearly sent him toppling off of his broom. 

Harry couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing right there, pausing to hover in the air as he doubled over on his broom. The look of shocked incredulity imprinted upon Cassius’s visage had been far too much.

“Harry?” Cassius asked, too baffled to even bother his friend about the amusement Harry had felt as a result of his antics. “What are you doing out here?”

“I just wanted to clear my thoughts.” Harry said honestly as they began to fly a leisurely lap around the pitch. “I like flying when I’m not limited by Hooch. I found that out this summer when I had brooms to use.” Technically, he’d found that out in the catacombs last June, but he was hardly going to tell that story.

Cassius eyed him critically as he picked up speed, seemingly daring Harry to follow. Raising a brow, Harry did so. Cassius didn’t speed up too much. He knew that Harry was on a school broom and if he put on a true spurt of speed, he would lose him rather easily. Still, he picked up the pace significantly, flying around the corner at that same, high speed. Harry took a moment to decide whether or not to slow down as the turn fast approached. On the Nimbus 1999, and even the Comet 260 he had frequented over the summer, it wouldn’t have even been a thought. He would have simply taken the corner at top speed. But on this old, battered school broom that had an odd tendency to drift off to the left...

Deciding to bank on what seemed to be natural ability, Harry took the turn hard, turning in early and managing to keep his broom stable throughout. He even closed the gap on Cassius, something that seemed to take the older boy aback as he picked up speed once more. 

And just like that, the two of them had a sort of game of cat and mouse on their hands. 

Anytime there was a straight line, Cassius rocketed away from Harry with ease, aided by his superior broom and the fact that he could gain more momentum by leaning forward as a result of his greater mass. However, every time there was tight or continuous cornering involved, Harry managed to close the gap on Cassius in spite of the difference in their brooms, something the older boy viewed as absolutely remarkable. 

When the two of them touched down on the pitch about an hour later, they were both smiling broadly and Harry was not sure he’d ever had so much fun in his life. Additionally, he felt as if his friendship with Cassius had just taken another large leap forward.

“You’ve got to try out for the team!” Cassius said excitedly.

Harry scoffed. “Cassius, I’m a second year. I’ve only been flying seriously for a few months and I’ve never played a game of Quidditch in my life. You’re mental if you think I’d have any chance at making that team.”

“No, Harry, I’m serious! I’m one of the better pure flyers on the team and you outflew me. I mean… yeah, I dusted you on the straights because of my broom, but you outmaneuvered me in the cornering while riding a broom that doesn’t turn! Do you have any idea how incredible that is?”

“Honestly? No, I have no idea.” Harry answered. “But even if it’s as amazing as you make it sound, which I doubt, by the way, there’s still the fact that — jeez, I don’t know — I’ve never played Quidditch in my life?”

Cassius just smirked back at Harry. “Oh, Harry, I forget how innocent and naive you are sometimes.” When Harry quirked a brow, Cassius elaborated. “You’ll go for seeker! You don’t need to have grown up playing Quidditch. For the most part, being a seeker hinges purely on flying ability and reflexes. I’ve seen how you fly, and I know from duelling that your reflexes are top notch.”

Harry frowned. “Two things: one, I have so much going on that I don’t even think I’d want to try out for the team.” Honestly, between his own personal studies, his intent to further explore the castle, and his private lessons twice a week with Grace, Harry had no idea how he’d fit Quidditch into that schedule without compromising any of its other components. “And two,” he continued, not allowing an incredulous looking Cassius to cut him off, “I thought you told me that Flint already had someone in mind for seeker?”

Cassius nodded, but the grin had not yet left his face. “He does, but I have a sneaking suspicion that when he sees you fly, he’s going to change his mind real quick!”

Harry sighed. “You say ‘when’ as if you’re going to manage to convince me to join.”

Harry almost recoiled at the predatory expression that crossed Cassius’s face. “Trust me, Harry, I am going to convince you to join.”

_**About an hour later, in the Great Hall…** _

Cassius had led Harry into the Slytherin changing room after their impromptu practice, waving off any and all concerns that Harry shouldn’t be there. As far as Cassius was concerned, Harry was a member of the team already. That confidence took Harry a bit aback, but as the changing room also held the nearest shower, he had not complained. When the two of them entered the Great Hall about ten minutes after the start of breakfast, they took seats near Calypso, Hestia and Flora. Daphne, Charlotte, Blaise and Tracey sat further down the table. Harry had shot them a questioning glance on his way into the hall, but Daphne had nodded, signalling that they didn’t mind if he sat with his older set of friends.

As soon as they took their seats, Cassius wasted no time quietly informing the other three about what he called “Harry’s prodigious abilities” on a broom. Truthfully, Harry thought he was blowing this way out of proportion, but even Calypso seemed grudgingly impressed by the account. She was still noncommittal in terms of backing Cassius’s claims. She had never exactly been an advocate of Cassius playing Quidditch, after all. But still, that fact only made Harry all the more surprised that she hadn’t shot him down at once. As usual, the Carrows, mainly Hestia, were vehemently assaulting Cassius verbally for his manic interest in Quidditch. Harry honestly found the whole thing quite hysterical, but unfortunately, the scene was cut off when an owl dropped a red, smoking letter in front of Ron Weasley, who’s skin whitened at once. 

Harry had briefly glanced towards the Gryffindor table when he had entered the hall. Charlus and his brother’s ever present sidekick were indeed there, which meant that of course, Dumbledore had let his golden boy off the hook once more for an offence that surely would have led to expulsion in the case of any other student. The thing that annoyed Harry the most was that neither of them even looked that perturbed. 

Of course, that all changed when the envelope arrived and the hall fell silent.

“What’s the deal with the red envelope?” Harry whispered to Calypso as it started smoking and a frantic Ron Weasley began to look about the hall, as if pleading for some sort of divine intervention.

“You’ll see.” Calypso said with a smirk, leaning back as far as she could on the bench and stretching her arms leisurely above her head. “Just enjoy the show; any second now…” 

Right on cue, there was a thunderous explosion emanating from the smoking envelope as it went off like a bomb. Suddenly, every square inch of the Great Hall was filled with the terribly high pitched tones of a woman who Harry assumed to be Ron’s mother.

“RONALD WEASLEY!!” Ron actually dove under the table as the rest of the hall focused their undivided attention upon the now screaming letter. Unfortunately for Ron, the table did nothing to protect him from the verbal onslaught that he was about to receive.

“STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE.

“LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND CHARLUS COULD BOTH HAVE DIED — ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!”

Mercifully for Ron and the ear drums of all in the hall, the letter then curled into ash upon the Gryffindor table and the voice of Molly Weasley ceased at once. Ron barely had the courage to poke his head out from under the table. Then, as the whole hall burst into fits of laughter, Weasley rushed to his feet, shaking like a leaf as he rushed out of the Great Hall. Charlus hesitated for only a moment, looking flushed and shaky himself before he followed. Harry noticed that he too had a letter clutched in his hands, but fortunately for the Boy-Who-Lived, it did not appear to be one that screamed.

“What the hell was that?” Harry asked Calypso, who smiled back at him as if she had just been privy to something truly special.

“That, Harry, was a howler. A right pain if it shows up in front of you, but terribly amusing when you’re not the target, wouldn’t you say?”

As immoral as it may have been, seeing as his brother was partially involved, Harry could not help but agree. 

_**Later that day, in the Transfiguration Classroom…** _

“Compasatus Verto!”

Charlotte sighed in relief and had to actively resist the urge to jump for joy as finally, after spending the entire class working on it, she managed to transform the matchstick into a needle quite literally seconds before the final bell went off. Granted, it hadn’t been a true transformation. Charlotte had been managing to transfigure small bits of the matchstick as the class progressed. Finally, it was only the very tip that needed to be transformed, and that final attempt had done it. Beside her, a thoroughly frustrated Laine Slater had not managed anything beyond changing the colour of her matchstick, but she was hardly the only one.

As a matter of fact, the only other student that had made significant progress at all was Ares Black. She, like Charlotte, had managed to fully transfigure the matchstick. Like Charlotte, she had also achieved the transformation in the closing seconds of the class, and to Charlotte’s annoyance, she had no idea which of them had transfigured the matchstick first. Either way, both of them earned fifteen points from Professor McGonagall before they were dismissed from their final class of the day and allowed to go off to dinner. 

Charlotte sighed; she would just have to ensure that she outperformed Ares Black and then some in Charms. After all, the Blacks did have a sort of affinity for Transfiguration, and Charlotte had always known the subject was not her strongest.

_strong >September 3, 1992  
The Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom  
10:40 AM_

As a whole, Harry’s first day at Hogwarts had been uneventful. 

After the clustered crop of chaos that had been his first fantastical year at Hogwarts, Harry was perfectly fine with the sudden dose of normality. Probably the most interesting or exciting thing from his first day, aside from Ron Weasley’s howler and his fancy flying with Cassius, had been their first Herbology lesson with Professor Sprout and the Ravenclaws. They had repotted baby Mandrakes. Harry had read about Mandrakes awhile ago, but they were an interesting plant to him. On one hand, they could be used in an extremely potent healing draft. On the other, their cry, once fully matured, could quite literally kill anything and everything in range. Harry found both of those things interesting, but it was the blatant contradiction in their nature that intrigued him.

Usually, when something had certain properties, like healing properties, in this case, their nature would match that. For example, unicorn blood, as Harry had learned from Firenze the previous year, could quite literally save somebody on the brink of death. This was not all that surprising when one considered the natural resilience, docility and grace of a unicorn. But a Mandrake… the contradiction between their cry and their healing properties intrigued Harry, but he had not gotten the chance to ask Professor Sprout about it.

Now, exactly one day later, Harry was pretty much certain that his brief stint of normality was about to come to a dramatic end that would very likely resemble a rather tragic train wreck.

Most of the second year Slytherin students sat eagerly attentive as the bell rang to signify the start of their first lesson in Defense Against The Dark Arts under the famous folk hero that was Gilderoy Lockhart. Speaking of Lockhart, the very man himself made his dramatic entrance at the exact moment the bell rang, sweeping into the classroom wearing forget-me-not blue robes that greatly accentuated the colour of his eyes. 

The entire class seemed to hold its breath as one. Each and every one of them had sky-high hopes for this class. Each and every single one of them were tingling with excitement, wondering what such a legendary figure could teach them about a branch of magic that he himself had mastered so thoroughly.

Every single one of them but Harry Potter.

Harry feigned blind interest like each and every one of his classmates but internally, he was indifferent. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. Harry was actually dreading this class.

While it was true that there had been the small downside of Professor Hurst turning out to be Lady Voldemort in disguise, she had, for better or for worse, been an absolutely magnificent teacher. Harry had learned an astounding amount from her both in and out of her class. He was quite certain that he would be nowhere near his current level of competence in the subject if not for Hurst’s — or, he supposed, Voldemort’s knowledge and, infuriatingly, her admittedly impressive skills as a teacher.

Even if Gilderoy Lockhart was everything he was chalked up to be, Harry was fairly certain that the Dark Lady’s teachings would not be matched in or out of this class.

There was also the small conundrum of Harry being completely and utterly certain that Gilderoy Lockhart was a massive fraud. 

Nobody that pompous could be legitimate. If the man was such a folk hero, Harry had a feeling that he would be out doing those magically moral things as opposed to hiding within the walls of Hogwarts, by example. But still, the rest of the class seemed convinced as to his competence so for now, Harry would play along. 

From the front of the class, a smiling Lockhart plucked his own autobiography off of the top of Lillian Moon’s pile of books.

“Allow me to introduce you to your new professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts — me.” he said simply, doing his best to match the pose on the cover of the book that he held. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!” He gave a rather airy laugh, but to what Harry was sure was the man’s dismay, nobody laughed along with him. 

Maybe, if he was lucky, Lockhart could get away with this act in front of the Gryffindors. But if he was going to try it in front of Slytherin House, he was going to get metaphorically eaten alive faster than he could say hair gel. 

If the lack of laughter perturbed their professor, the man didn’t show it. On the contrary, he kept his wide, charming smile firmly in place as he continued his lesson.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books. Well done!” Harry could have gaped. He knew it would be bad, but not this bad. Lockhart was talking to them as if they were five! “I thought we’d start today with a little quiz.” he said enthusiastically. Suddenly, the mood in the class changed. Harry figured it would be a joke, so he wasn’t worried. “Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about. Just to see how well you’ve read them; to see how much you’ve… taken in.” With a wave of his wand, all of the tests began distributing themselves onto each desk. When Harry looked down at the test in front of him, he could have laughed out loud. 

_1 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?  
2 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?  
3 - When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what would his ideal gift be?_

And on and on and on the test went. All the way down to question 30, the last on the second page. 

_30 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_

Harry actively had to resist the urge to laugh. From beside him, Blaise was looking down at his test with an absolutely dumbstruck look on his face. “Are you ready to admit that I was right about Lockhart?” Harry asked smugly, referencing his previously voiced certainty that Lockhart was a fraud as well as Blaise’s scepticism of the fact.

But to Harry’s astonishment, Blaise looked at him, baffled. “What do you mean?” he asked, a glint now shining in his eye. “This is brilliant!”

Harry paused, seriously concerned for the wellbeing of his friend. “Um… Blaise? Can you please explain to me how, in any way, shape or form this is brilliant?” In response, Blaise simply reached over and turned Harry’s quiz to the third page and pointed, smirking smugly. Confused, Harry looked down, and his eyes widened.

_31 - What is the most basic of the shield charms?  
32 - What are the primary advantages and disadvantages of this charm? Explain each of them.  
33 - Explain what might happen if you were hit with the Furnunculus hex._

And on it went…

_40 - What is the name of the spell used to disarm another witch or wizard? Bonus points for if you can describe the spell’s fundamental limitations._  
41 - What does the term “Esoteric Magic” mean?  
42 - Give at least one example of an esoteric spell and explain why it meets the categorization. 

Harry looked up sharply, unwilling to believe it. “It’s an act…” he muttered, suddenly eyeing Lockhart with absolute disbelief. Blaise smirked knowingly and went back to his quiz, prompting a rather dazed Harry to do the same.

As it turned out, Harry had not even opened any of Gilderoy Lockhart’s books. So sure he had been that Lockhart was a fraud, he hadn’t even bothered. As a result, he was fairly certain that he absolutely bombed the first thirty questions. At around fifteen, he stopped taking them seriously. He and Blaise began to play a game of one-upmanship, taking it in turns to mug off Lockhart with their completely unrelated answers. 

Once Harry reached past question thirty, he was fairly confident in his answers. Still… some of those questions definitely had not been second year Defense questions. The one on Esoteric Magic in particular had been well beyond second year. Harry had read about it in a book on magical theory, but only because of Voldemort bringing it up vaguely to him early in his first year, prompting a personal investigation, of sorts. Thankfully, he did have an example of an esoteric spell, but only because had read up on the Boggart banishing spell quite recently. 

All around the class, there were varying states of surprise, dismay and even outrage as people began to reach the true meat of the test. Finally, half an hour or so later, Lockhart summoned all the papers to him and began rifling through them with ruthless efficiency.

“Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year with a Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!" Now, Lockhart was drawing baffled, if not indignant looks from much of the gathered crowd. 

“But,” he said loudly, “Miss Pansy Parkinson remembered that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil, and to market my own range of hair care products.” Lockhart promptly rifled to the second half of the quiz. “Though her performance was… average, on the more… practical questions. Mister Harry Potter, however,” he said, “seemed to know the answers to each and every one of these questions, which means he will be getting 100% on this first assignment!” 

Harry’s eyes widened. He definitely had not gotten any of the first thirty right. 

But then, Lockhart explained. 

“All of you, except for Mister Potter, it seems, fell into my ploy without ever seeing any of it. I admit, I expected a bit better from the house of cunning.” When many of the faces around the room still looked bamboozled, Lockhart elaborated fully. “You see, I did do my best in the lead up to this job to look as overly narcissistic as one could possibly imagine.” he smiled. “While it’s true I do rather enjoy my smile and think I have done some rather noble things for the betterment of wizard kind, I am by no means Narcissus reincarnated.

“Now, let us see if you all do better with some more practical experience.” Lockhart stooped and lifted what appeared to be a large cage covered in a dark cloth and placed it on his desk. With a flourish, he removed the cloth to reveal a cage of… “Freshly caught Cornish Pixies!” he exclaimed, smiling broadly out at them. When the class just looked back at him, some baffled, some incredulous, some openly smirking, he too smirked, wagging a finger chidingly at the class as a whole. “Tut, tut — you’ve all done it again. You’ve fallen into the trap of preconceived misconceptions.” Then, he smiled deviously. “Think they’re such a joke, do you? Well, let’s see what you make of them!”

And he opened the cage.

All at once, pandemonium broke out.

Pansy Parkinson and Lilian Moon screamed as dozens of pixies lunged at both of their heads, intent on attacking their hair. Harry was the first on his feet, wand snapping into his hand from his holster. The first pixy to fly at him was immobilized with a full-body-bind, the next with a stunner. Then, about twelve of them jumped at him and Blaise, and he sent them all back with a knockback jinx. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the class was not doing as well. Pansy was on the floor, shrieking as pixies pulled at her hair and ran through it like it was some kind of field. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott had already fled the room. Milicent Bulstrode was trying in vain to keep the pixies at bay by swinging a book, and poor Lily Moon was hanging from the chandelier. To their credit, Daphne and Tracey were taking down pixie after pixie with well placed freezing charms. Blaise kept sending them flying back with knockback jinxes while Harry picked them off one at a time.

The problem was, one at a time wasn’t going to be good enough. 

Harry was reasonably certain the pixies would be unsuccessful in hurting him, but they were going to trash the room unless he found a way of taking them all down at once. 

Before he could get much further down that train of thought, Tracey cried out as she was jumped from behind and several of the devils bit into her neck. Harry whirled, but paused, unsure what to do. He knew that he couldn’t hit Tracey with any spells that may immobilize them, so how else to draw out their discontent? 

Then, it hit him. 

Muttering an internal apology to Tracey, he took aim, ignoring the bastard of a pixie that decided to take a bite out of his arm as he did so. 

“Aguamenti!”

A torrent of water surged from his wand, and though it also unfortunately knocked Tracey to the floor, it also sent all pixies around her scrambling. Immediately, Harry began to spray all of the pixies with jets of water, trying to back them all into the same corner. When he managed that, he kept the spray up, not quite sure how to immobilize so many at once…

“Somnium Horribilis!”

There was a blinding flash of white light that made Harry cringe from its brightness as Lockhart’s strong voice rang through the room. Then, when the light faded, Harry was left gaping. All of the pixies were still there in the corner. Except, all of them seemed to be blissfully unconscious. 

Harry turned to look at the man himself and realized that Lockhart was standing completely unscathed behind his desk. Not a single hair was out of place. As if realizing that Harry was questioning how that was possible when he hadn’t even seen Lockhart cast a spell, their professor addressed Harry directly. “Throw something at me, will you, Mister Potter?” Perplexed, Harry grabbed a nearby quill and threw it at Lockhart. About a foot away from making impact, there was a brief pulse of blue light around Lockhart and the quill fell to the floor.

“The Vestamenterum shield.” Lockhart explained. “It is of very little use against spells, but it will stop most blunt objects and brute force attacks. While protected by this shield, the pixies had no hope of touching me.” He smiled smugly at the aghast looks on all of the faces of his students. 

“As I am sure you all took note, it is also useful to learn a wide variety of spells. In particular, those with wide ranging effects.” Lockhart looked at Harry directly now. “Your spell arsenal is impressive, Mister Potter, shockingly so for one your age. The Aguamenti charm in particular is astounding, not to mention very clever in the situation at hand. Yes, pixies do greatly dislike water, as I’m sure you all noticed. The flaw was that once you had them cornered, you had absolutely no idea what to do with them.” Harry nodded; it was unfortunately true. 

“Your homework,” Lockhart said, summoning all of the pixies towards him and levitating them back into their cage before he began the necessary repairs on the room, “is two pieces of parchment. One will be on the Vestamenterum shield, its applications, its strengths and its shortcomings. The other will be the same, but it will be done while studying the Somnium charm and its modifier, Horribilis. Oh, and do pass the message onto those who fled, will you?” Lockhart winked as all of them sagged under the early year workload. “Well then — off with you!”

As Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Blaise left the classroom, Harry could hardly stand the terribly smug expression on Blaise’s face. “Any comments, Harry?” he asked, amused.

Harry sighed, scowling at Blaise before officially conceding the point. “Well, I suppose I stand corrected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you guys so much for 2000 favourites! We are now also starting to close in on 3000 followers!**
> 
> **The Lockhart scene is very similar to the one from Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin. That is done semi-intentionally. That story has definitely influenced how I will write Lockhart. That being said, the mystery that is Gilderoy Lockhart is VERY DIFFERENT in this story to PoS. Like… not even remotely close to being close kind of different, so you can all stop worrying about that now.**
> 
> **Oh, and shoutout to Dethryl‘s They Shook Hands Series. Laine Slater was a character in that fic, and she had a twin brother in it as well. Those are the only things I’m borrowing in regards to her character, as everything else is original, but I like the name.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 8th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	9. Regretful Reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**September 4, 1992  
The Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom  
2:30 PM** _

As all of the students filed out of the classroom, Gilderoy let out a long, heaving sigh. To say that he was drastically disappointed in the performance of the second year Gryffindors was an understatement. Sure, he didn’t expect them to know the water conjuration charm like the Slytherin Potter, but he had expected a certain degree of competence. Especially when one of the members of said class was Charlus Potter. 

Granted, the incompetence hadn’t really been on the side of Charlus, even though he had shown himself to be lesser than his brother in the area. He, like his brother, had been rather efficient in taking down the pixies one by one. Unfortunately, it was rather obvious that Charlus did not have the same range of spells that his older brother possessed. He pretty much attacked exclusively with full-body-bind hexes as well as both the knockback and the impediment jinxes. Gilderoy supposed that his arsenal may not be as limited as it seemed. After all, most of one’s arsenal wasn’t exactly useful against pixies. 

But he had a feeling that was not the case.

Hermione Granger too had been competent, but no more so than Daphne Greengrass of Slytherin. Both of them had applied the freezing charm, as had Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. Again, Lockhart had a student strung up by the chandelier, Neville Longbottom, this time. And again, most of the class fled before its conclusion. 

But at least in the case of the Slytherins, they had actually managed to corner the beasts. When Gilderoy himself had entered the fray in that class, it was simply to finish the job. When he intervened on the behalf of the second year Gryffindors, it was an act of mercy. That, and he really didn’t want to know what would happen if he let the pixies terrorize the lions for much longer.

All of this was fairly disturbing for Gilderoy for two reasons. First of all was that, at least as of this moment, Charlus Potter had been disappointing. That could not be allowed to continue for too long. Charlus Potter needed to be better than that for any of Gilderoy’s plans to succeed. Well, need may have been a strong word, but it certainly had the potential to make Gilderoy’s future plans much, much easier.

And Harry Potter… for all of Gilderoy’s preaching about not falling prey to misconceptions, Harry Potter reminded him rather painfully of a tall, dark-haired girl who he had only met in person once before. In spite of that fact, he knew far, far more about the girl in question than he should rightfully know. 

It was far too easy to be suspicious, but the mere fact that his brain had drawn that mental connection put Gilderoy instantly on edge. To say that would be detrimental to his plans would be something far beyond a simple understatement. 

_**September 4, 1992  
A Room In The Dungeons  
8:00 PM** _

Harry felt a torrent of emotions crashing against his mind as he neared the room in which he was set to meet Grace in a matter of moments. The last time he had entered this room, it had been for a meeting with the first adult figure whom Harry had ever truly trusted. Then, days later, that same adult figure had turned out to be the furthest thing from trustworthy. To Harry, this room symbolized hours of hard work and steady progression under a marvellous teacher who had taken him forward by leaps and bounds. Regrettably, it also served as a symbol for what had happened the last time he trusted someone new so fully.

What if Grace was just another Amelia Hurst? Could he truly trust the seventh year Slytherin whom he practically knew nothing about? 

On one hand, the Weitts family had provided him a home and treated him with the utmost kindness. On the other, that family too was secretive beyond belief. Grace wouldn’t even tell him what the Weitts family crest meant, for Merlin’s sake. Imagine hiding something that was quite literally supposed to symbolize your family. Harry had, of course, tried to translate it. He was far too curious a person not to have at least tried. Unfortunately, he had found out the hard way that it was not written in traditional Ancient Greek as he had initially suspected. It was certainly Greek of some sort, but Harry had absolutely no inkling beyond that. Some sort of abstract dialect, he suspected.

Did Harry trust Grace? Certainly not fully, but certainly more so than he did most people. 

He shook his head forcefully as he approached the door to the room. These thoughts were provoked by memories that were apparently far more haunting than Harry had initially realized. There would be time to internalize all of this later. For now, he needed to enter this room with the same mindset he had perpetually frequented when stepping into his private lessons the year previous. The mindset that had allowed him to learn how to deflect spells non-verbally, and to cast other magic that should have been far, far above his current level.

To his mild surprise, when he opened the door, Grace was already present. Harry was taken aback, as he had sort of imagined her as the “fashionably late type”. Certainly, he had not expected her to arrive before him, seeing as, though he didn’t go out of his way to be early by any means, he could always be counted on to be punctual. 

Equally surprising to him was that the room’s decor, set up by Hurst the previous Christmas had been left untouched. He supposed the house elves must not have thought it harmful. In any case, Harry was hardly complaining, but he had also been quite sure that his favourite room in the Hogwarts dungeons would have awaited him bare and stripped upon his return to the castle.

“Good evening.” Grace greeted, nodding approvingly at his punctuality. To Harry’s surprise, she did not immediately start locking or warding the door. When he removed his own wand to cast the very limited number of useful spells he knew in the area, she cut across him. “There’s no need; the room’s warded already.”

Harry blinked; he had never even known that. “It is?”

“Yes, very well actually. Whoever set them up clearly had a talent for warding. It was a nightmare for me to even find this place. There are powerful notice-me-not charms in the area that I had to work my way around. That’s not even counting the intent wards cast on the place.” Grace fixed Harry with a piercing stare as he tried to digest all that he had just learned. “No offense, but I very highly doubt that you would have found this place on your own.” Harry didn’t react, but he assumed Grace was probably right. “So, I’m curious, who cued you into the wards? And, for that matter, who set them up in the first place?”

Harry hesitated. “I… never actually knew that there were wards up at all. Honestly, I have no idea how to even cue somebody into wards. I thought I’d have known if I were cued in, no?” The “not knowing” thing wasn’t true, but he had no idea how one would do it without telling him.

Grace seemed to ponder that question. “You would know, one would think. You don’t have to be aware of the fact, but it’s much more convenient and a whole lot less complicated to do so with the help of the person you’re trying to cue in.” she paused. “I can honestly say I’m not positive on how whoever cast the ward scheme managed it. It’s… very impressive.”

That fact did not surprise Harry at all. Not when they were speaking about Lady Voldemort. Say what you will about her, but nobody had ever called into question her status among some of the greatest witches and wizards to ever live in terms of their abilities with magic.

“What are we working on tonight?” Harry asked, smoothly diverting the topic of conversation. He was not foolish enough to believe that Grace was not well aware of the tactic, but she let him have his wish.

“I think we’ll finally get to combat magic.” she told him. “You’ll be ready to start the next stage of Occlumency within the next week or two. I just need to do some final tests for stage one to make sure that you’re set. We’ve spent a lot of time getting you there though, so we’ve neglected this area of practice.”

Harry nodded, knowing all too well that it was true. He’d even thought so when Charlotte had made her rather bold gestures at the welcoming feast just days earlier. “So, what will we be working on tonight then? Specifically, I mean?”

“Probably not much of anything, tonight. I need to evaluate you, I suppose you could say. See which spells you know, what you’re actually capable of in a duel, so on, so forth.” 

Harry felt butterflies come to life in his stomach. He could see where this was going and unbidden, memories of Grace’s duel against Flint from over a year ago floated to the forefront of his imagination. He’d duelled Calypso several times and she had been incredible. For however good she was, Harry was quite positive that Grace was much better, at least for now.

He was equally positive that she had nothing on Lady Voldemort, but she had always held back considerably in their duels. She would often let him get his offense off simply so he could go through the motions, even though she never let any of it be remotely effective.

“I think a mock duel or two would be a good way to start.” Grace proposed. “It will be the most draining part of the night, so best to get it over with out of the gate. Plus, it will probably narrow down the spells I’ll have to ask you about, since I would imagine you’ll try to use some of them against me.” 

Harry nodded stiffly, summoning his wand from his holster and squaring off with Grace. Of course, both of them knew this was only going to end one way. “I probably won’t be too offensive.” Grace informed him. “This is for me to gauge you, so I’d prefer if you took a more offensive style. I’ll play defense for the most part, but I’ll test your defenses when you leave an opening. Anything I use that could actually do real damage, I’ll incant out loud.” Harry nodded again, setting his jaw. “Are you ready?” 

Another nod. “What’s legal?”

Grace actually took the time to roll her eyes. “Harry, just try and curse me. I’m not overly worried by anything you might try.” He regretfully had to admit that she had a point. “On your move.”

As fast as he could, Harry snapped his wand up towards Grace. 

“Stupefy!”

She easily slid out of the way, not even bothering to block or defend the stunner in any way. Fortunately, that was what Harry had hoped for. His wand moved in fluid motions as he chained his next two spells together — a cutting curse and a disarming spell. Grace’s eyebrows rose at the former, though she defended both easily. She leaned out of the way of the cutting curse, allowing it to quite literally miss her by inches. Harry almost paused at that feat. It was as if she had seen the spell in slow motion, such was the precision of her movements. Of course, it was not the first time he had thought this during a duel. Voldemort had given him a similar feeling on several occasions, and it was that fact that allowed him not to pause as Grace batted away his stunner with what seemed to be no effort at all on her part.

Before Harry could go on the offensive once more, Grace’s wand moved like quicksilver. Three spells raced towards Harry at top speed. He shielded using Protego and allowed the spells to spark harmlessly off of his shield. For the first time, Grace actually looked impressed, but she didn’t pause. 

“Bombarda.”

If not for his memory, Harry would have lost right there and then. Fortunately, he could recall Hestia using that spell against Calypso on several occasions. Granted, it had never been successful, so he didn’t know exactly what it did. But seeing as Calypso had never relied on a shield to stop it, he figured it was probably in his best interests to follow her example. It was with this in mind that he rolled to the side, just avoiding what appeared to be a stunner from Grace before he was on his feet once more. 

“Aguamenti!” 

Harry had planned to send the jet of water towards Grace and freeze it, hopefully causing a loss of balance or freezing of a limb. Grace never let him get that far. As the water streaked towards her, she twisted her wand in a tight motion and just like that, Harry could practically feel his control over the water torn away from him as suddenly, twice as much water as he had conjured came crashing towards him.

“Flagrate!”

This fire conjuration was the only thing Harry could think of to stop the water. It was similar to Incendio in the fact that it conjured a similar amount of fire. However, unlike Incendio, it gave the caster a more direct ability to manipulate the conjured fire. The downside was that this made it much more difficult to cast, let alone control. By example, Harry had done it once at the end of last year, only days before his confrontation with Voldemort while the aforementioned Dark Lady supervised him. But that had been a rather poor, if admittedly successful attempt. 

To his credit, Harry did cause a great amount of fire to surge from his wand. It collided hard with the wall of water, and suddenly, steam billowed from the point of contact and began to fill the room as the two opposing elements effectively neutralized one another. Harry recast the spell as soon as the steam had billowed and did his best to send flaming ropes towards Grace. Unfortunately, he did not quite have that level of control over the spell. The flames did indeed morph into ropes, but they also quickly lost all distinguishable form about halfway towards Grace, making Harry’s attack a fair bit less effective. 

Not that it would have mattered. 

Before the fire could reach her, Grace had neutralized the flames and then, with a swish of her wand, conjured four serpents, which all advanced on Harry.

For a heartbeat, Harry was about to simply call them off with Parseltongue as his instincts very nearly kicked in. Then, the logical part of his brain that remembered all of the monstrous implications that would follow such an act reared its ugly head and fortunately, the potential crisis was averted. On the downside, his hesitation had given the snakes time to edge nearer to him. 

He could burn them with fire, but they were close enough to him that he might very well burn himself in the process. And that was discounting the possibility of the snakes striking him before he could conjure up the requisite fire. For that latter reason, something like cutting curses was also out. He would never get four of them off in time. Right about now, Harry really wished he knew how to vanish matter, but he hadn’t the foggiest idea. As a result, he quickly signaled defeat, prompting Grace to vanish all four snakes with a long sweep of her wand.

“Impressive,” Grace complimented, “your arsenal is a bit limited compared to an upper year, but it’s outstanding for a second year. You still need more weapons though. You were completely at my mercy at the end since you had no way of countering the attack.”

“How would I have beaten that, anyway?”

“You could have done a number of things. The most effective would have been to vanish the snakes. That’s a sixth year spell that is probably beyond you right now, but you’ll be working on it, since conjuration will be a problem against older opponents. I purposefully avoided it for most of the duel to draw it out, but as soon as I introduced it, you had no chance.” She had a point, loathe as he was to admit it. 

“You also could have conjured your own animals to fight the snakes but again, that’s pretty advanced. Definitely more difficult than vanishing and probably still not feasible at the moment. You could’ve shielded, but it would have only delayed the end. The Protego shield, which, by the way, I am very impressed that you know, only covers your front. At least one of the snakes would have slithered around the shield, and then you’d be in even more trouble.”

“Are there any shields that protect a wider area?”

“There are, but they’re probably beyond you, for now. That’s N.E.W.T level defense, and not the easy kind, either.” Grace appraised him. “Before I test your spell range itself, is there anything you didn’t get to show off in that duel that you think I should know about?”

Harry shrugged. “I can deflect some less powerful spells. I haven’t worked my way up to curses yet, but I can do pretty much any jinx and most hexes.”

Grace’s eyebrows rose. “That is… very advanced magic for your age.”

Harry smirked. “I know; it’s how I got my O+ in Defense.”

Grace nodded thoughtfully. “That would definitely do it, yes.” Then, she turned to the dummies on the far wall. “Well, are you ready to continue?”

_**Some time later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

Harry was fairly satisfied with his session by the time he returned to the Slytherin common room, making sure to enter several minutes ahead of Grace as to not indicate that they had been together. True, he hadn’t got to learn anything new that night, but Grace had been pleased with what she had to work with and seemed confident that she could greatly improve his combat abilities by the end of the school year.

When Harry did eventually enter the common room, he could not help but notice a rather grim mood. Quickly, his eyes darted to the lounge, remembering last year’s disaster. This time, nobody was foolish enough to take Grace’s seat, so Harry could only assume that the atmosphere had nothing to do with a challenger to her position. In fact, after briefly investigating the room, Harry couldn’t come to any obvious conclusion as to what had caused the sort of stupor. 

Swiftly, he made his way over to his three friends, who were joined at a table by Charlotte and the tall, blonde first year girl who Harry didn’t know. It appeared that all of them were doing homework, but judging by the way Charlotte’s eyes rose just in time to meet his before he took a seat with the group, at least one of them had been mildly distracted.

“Harry Potter, Laine Slater.” Charlotte said, quickly and efficiently introducing the two of them. 

Laine bowed her head before offering her hand as they went through the customary greeting. Laine’s eyes did not leave Harry as he turned to the rest of the group. “I don’t suppose anybody wants to fill me in on what I missed?”

“The possible destruction of the Slytherin Quidditch team.” Blaise said nonchalantly.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“Well, it was already without a seeker,” Daphne reminded him, “and now it’s without a Captain.”

Harry had to resist the urge to gape. “What? But Flint’s still at Hogwarts, isn’t he? Did something happen to him?”

“Not that we know of.” Daphne answered in a hushed whisper. “He just… got up in front of the common room and said he had an announcement to make.”

“At first,” Tracey added, sounding anxious, “we thought he was going to be thick enough to challenge Grace again. But he wasn’t. He just stood up and told everybody that he was resigning as Quidditch Captain.” 

Something about that seemed… off, to Harry. If Cassius was to be believed, Flint was a borderline fanatic. It seemed a stretch that he would leave the team so willingly and seemingly in spontaneous fashion. But the evidence was right there, staring him in the face.

“I don’t suppose anybody knows why he decided to resign?”

“He said it was to pursue academics.” Laine quoted, her voice making it very clear that she didn’t believe it. When Harry raised his eyebrows, she sighed. “I know a bit about Flint. Our families are fairly close. Not personally, but as business partners. I never exactly got the feeling that he was too bothered by school.”

“He’s a good duelist.” Harry commented. 

“But Grace destroyed him!” Tracey whispered. 

Harry shrugged. “Trust me, Tracey. I’ve seen quite a few students duel, and Flint is good. Grace is just a prodigy, or something. Either way, she’s just on another level altogether. It had everything to do with her and nothing to do with Flint.”

Laine shrugged. “Maybe he’s changed, I don’t know. Honestly, I try not to get tangled up with him and his mother.”

“His father’s dead, right?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes,” Charlotte answered, her eyes finding Harry again as if to watch for a reaction, “he died a few months before the fall of the Dark Lady. There were rumours, of course. There actually were with most families around the time, but nothing was ever proven.”

Harry just nodded and withdrew into his own thoughts, allowing the conversation to continue on around him. His thoughts were a bit jumbled, but they could be effectively summarized in a fairly succinct manner.

Harry had a bad feeling about Marcus Flint.

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom…** _

“So?” a hushed voice asked, sounding a little bit more than exasperated. 

“So, now that Flint’s out of the picture, it’s our perfect chance!”

“Why do you think I care, Cassius?” the first voice asked again. “Since when have I ever cared about anything relating to Quidditch, ever?”

“You haven’t, but it’s about more than Quidditch!”

“Oh, please, we both know it’s entirely motivated by Quidditch on your end.”

“Even if that’s true, we both know that I’m not wrong. It would boost his position in the house and keep him out of the crosshairs of the upper years. It helps him and it might just help us if we play our cards right.”

“He’s our friend, Cassius.”

“Of course he is, but that doesn’t mean we can’t all benefit from the friendship.”

“From what you told me, he seems to think pretty similarly to how I think about it. I doubt staying out of crosshairs will be enough for him to give up his time. He’s barely ever in the common room, so he clearly keeps busy enough.”

“True, but I’m sure we can convince him.”

“You’re missing the point! I have no reason to convince him!”

A pause, and then… “Really? I’m sure your dad would love to know more about him.”

“My father’s never even spoken to me about him-“

“Funny, because he spoke to my parents. It’s just a matter of time, Calypso. If I were you, I’d make sure we were all in the best positions when that happened.”

_**At that same moment, in the Headmaster’s Office.** _

Dumbledore looked up from his stack of papers just as a bluish light blinked into existence in the center of his office. A second later, the blue light solidified into the form of a man. After spinning at break-neck speeds for a fraction of a second, the man’s feet touched down on the floor. After a brief stagger, he righted himself, ran a hand through his dark, windswept looking hair and adjusted his glasses.

“Good evening, James.” Dumbledore greeted his friend with a warm smile. “I do hope you haven’t been working too hard?”

“Less now compared to last year.” James answered, taking the seat across from his old Headmaster. “This year, there’s no Gringotts break-in to investigate. Thank Merlin it’s the HIT wizards who dealt with the raids over the summers and not the actual  
Aurors.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That certainly would have taken up valuable time on your schedule. Speaking of which, I am curious, James. Why did you wish to take time off of your schedule to meet with me on this rather chilly evening?”

There was a brief pause in which it was very evident that Dumbledore was waiting for James to speak. For his part, the aforementioned Senior Auror looked intensely uncomfortable. It appeared as if he were battling with his own internal thoughts, as if he were trying to untangle them and bring them back under his control. After a moment, James finally spoke. “I think it’s time we talk about my son.”

Dumbledore frowned. “It was very troubling, Charlus’s behaviour on the first of September. I am sure he will learn from his mistakes, however-“

“My other son, Albus.”

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed as Dumbledore realized exactly what kind of conversation he had unknowingly entered himself into. Given the timing of James’s request for a meeting, he had justifiably assumed that it had something to do with Charlus’s rather dramatic arrival at the castle on the first of the month. 

Internally, Dumbledore sighed but externally, he maintained a perfectly calm visage as he steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, inspecting the man in front of him critically. “I’m afraid you are going to have to be more specific, James. There are a number of things we could doubtlessly speak on at length in regards to Harry.”

“Damnit, Albus!” James cursed. “Stop stalling! You’re just making this harder for both of us! You know why I’m here!”

“I would not go as far as to say that I know of anything. I can assume, however, that it has something to do with the… drama concerning Harry over the summer holidays?”

James snorted. “You and your damn gift for understatement.” There was a pause in which James realized Dumbledore really wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “You promised me in June that you were going to make sure it didn’t happen again.” There was an obvious note of accusation in James’s voice, and though Dumbledore did not immediately answer it, he made no move to defend himself either. “You said that you wouldn’t let them mistreat him again.” 

Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back. “I have made severe mistakes, James.” he began.

“No shit.” James deadpanned. “That’s exactly why we’re here.”

“True, true.” Dumbledore agreed. “I am assuming that you wish to hear my reasoning before you pass your judgement?” When James nodded, Dumbledore sighed, this time out loud. “I was a fool, James. I fell into the same trap that I fell into almost eleven years ago now.”

“What do you mean?” 

“On that night in Godric’s Hollow, you mentioned your… concerns with sending Harry to live with his aunt and uncle. At the time, I believe I preached to you my belief that with the death of her sister, Petunia would surely wish to turn over a new leaf. That surely, she would want the best for Lily’s son in honour of her memory.” Dumbledore looked pained as he paused, as if to collect his thoughts. 

“I really did believe that, James.” he said quietly. “I really believed that Harry would be treated, at the very least, decent. I never wished to see a boy raised in such a way. Last year, after Harry arrived at Hogwarts and after you spoke with him in Hogsmeade, it was clear to the both of us that he had not been raised with as much decency as I suspect either of us had hoped for. But even then, I made the same mistake. I thought that perhaps, Harry was overdramatizing things. Or, at least, that his treatment was simply mean spirited and not outright malicious.” 

The Headmaster slowly shook his head as James sat stone still, letting Dumbledore speak as he did his best to take in every word. “I was wrong, James.” the old man admitted. “After Harry went missing this summer, I… paid a visit to the home in which he was raised and did some… investigating.”

“And?” James asked, suddenly noticing a rather rapid increase in his pulse. This was news to him. He’d done his own investigations over the past number of weeks. He had interviewed some of Harry’s old teachers and spoken with characters like Arabella Figg. But even he had not gone straight to the source. He thought that he had gained a picture of just how badly the two of them had failed Harry, but he was suddenly worried that perhaps he had yet to discover the depths of the sins they would one day need to atone for.

“It was much, much worse than I’d imagined. They did not just neglect Harry, they went out of their way to mistreat him.” James’s heart sank as he suddenly had all of his worst fears confirmed. “If I am being fair, a more accurate summary may be that Vernon Dursley went out of his way to mistreat Harry while Petunia stood by and watched. She was certainly neglectful, but I do not think she was outright abusive.”

“Is that supposed to be a defense of her?”

“Of course not.” Dumbledore said in a rather clipped voice. “I was disgusted, James. Disgusted with the both of them for what they had done to Harry, but disgusted with myself above all others. For years, those in the Neutral and Conservative factions, which, as you well know, house many of my most vocal detractors have said that I am too forgiving. They have said that my ability to see the best in everybody is not a strength as much as it is a weakness. Why, I believe the two of us once had a point of contention on the matter.” James nodded, remembering exactly how strongly he had argued against Dumbledore’s favourable treatment of Snape. 

“The worst part, James, is that a part of me always knew they were right. Not unconditionally, of course. But there was a time, many years ago, when that very weakness had been my undoing. And now, all these years later, that weakness rears its head in the ugliest of fashions. I thought too highly of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. My belief in the goodness of people whom I did not know condemned a child to ten years of misery, and it led me to unwillingly throw him into an environment the likes of which I hated above all others.”

“What do you mean by that?” James asked pensively, though by now, his voice was quite cracked. 

Dumbledore paused and seemed to ponder something. To James, it looked very much as if the Hogwarts Headmaster was deciding whether or not to reveal a piece of information. For a terrifying moment, the Potter Lord thought he was about to find out that Dumbledore had yet again withheld information about the prophecy. But when Dumbledore visibly deflated and seemed to age decades under James’s stare, he spoke not of the future, but of the past.

“You know, of course, that my sister met her end many years ago in Godric’s Hollow?” James nodded, suddenly worried. The Potters had once been neighbours of old Bathilda Bagshot. She had told them frankly outrageous stories about Dumbledore. Honestly, James had been too afraid to ask the man himself about them. In particular, whether any of the tidbits about him and Gellert Grindelwald being close as teens was true. 

“Bathilda told me.” he said quietly. 

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “Oh, I do wonder of the things that Bathilda may have told you. Nevertheless, this was one secret that I do not believe she was ever made privy to. When my sister was young — seven, to be precise, she was… attacked by a group of muggle boys that had seen her performing magic.” Dumbledore’s voice was hollow and in all the years of knowing the man, James had never heard him sound so defeated. 

“Was-was that how she died?” James asked, shocked. “Was it that bad?”

“Oh, no, Ariana lived for several years after the encounter. As for how bad it was… my poor father went to Azkaban in search of retribution.” James actually flinched at that revelation. “My sister was never the same after that in many ways. Among them, she was afraid of her magic. She repressed it with every fibre of her being, but a force so free and powerful as magic does not allow itself to be suppressed so easily. This took a great toll on my sister, and I believe it was the catalyst for the myriad of issues that plagued her in her final years.” 

Now, for the first time in several minutes, Dumbledore looked up and met James’s eyes. The old man wasn’t crying, but there was an obvious wetness at the corner of his eyes. “They tried to do that to Harry, James. Vernon feared magic, just like those muggles who hurt Ariana. Petunia did not, but she was too spiteful of its very existence to intervene. My fatal flaw led me to not only overlook behaviour like that which essentially sentenced my sister to death, but it forced another child into a similarly pitiful existence.”

A long, painful silence stretched between the two men as Dumbledore cast his stare downwards towards the desk, unwilling to meet his one time protege’s eyes. To say that James was horrified by all of these revelations would have been an understatement. But still, it pained him to see a man who had been something of a grandfather type figure to him feel this much pain at memories both known and unknown to him. 

Tentatively, James reached across the desk and rested a hand on Dumbledore’s forearm. “But it’s worked out, hasn’t it? Harry’s escaped the fate of your sister. I… doubt he’s right pleased with us, but even if he’ll never look at us the same way again, he’s at least alright, isn’t he? We can at least help him, right? We can do right by him?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I wish it was that easy, James, I really do. For now, of course I will do everything in my power to assure that Harry experiences every positive aspect of life that my sister missed out on. But… we must assure that the prophecy does not come to pass.” James bit his tongue. If truth be told, he really didn’t know how to respond to that. “Fortunately,” Dumbledore continued, finally allowing a trace of hope to enter his voice, “the methods with which I believe said prophecy can be averted seem as if they will steer Harry onto a favourable path.”

“So no more sending him back there?” James practically implored.

“Never again.” Dumbledore agreed. “I would never condemn him to that place again, prophecy or no. Besides, the blood wards have now fallen, as of a number of weeks ago.”

“But you have a plan?” James asked with no small amount of suspicion.

“My plan, James, is to fix the bond between the twins. They have had time to cool off, so it is my hope that cooler heads shall prevail. I am in no rush to force the two of them together, but I would like very much to integrate Harry once and for all back into the family in which he should have grown up in.”

In spite of himself, James smiled. Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope after all.

_**September 5, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:53 AM** _

All in all, Harry had enjoyed his first week at Hogwarts this year. Much of that enjoyment had actually come from the relative normality that had made up pretty much the entirety of the week. The most eventful things that had happened had been Ron Weasley’s howler, his early morning flying session with Cassius, his first lesson under the not-so-fake after all Gilderoy Lockhart, and of course, his lesson with Grace last night. There was also that bit where Grace had maybe found out about the Speaker’s Den? Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. 

There was certainly a part of him that thought he was overthinking things, but there was also a much larger, much more insistent part of him that was telling him he was most certainly not overthinking anything at all. In the end, he’d decided that as of now, there was very little he could do about it one way or the other, so he would leave well enough alone. He would, of course, keep an eye on Grace, but anything more than that wasn’t exactly feasible. 

This morning, Harry was planning to maintain his normal routine. He had just finished breakfast with Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, Laine and Charlotte. Now, he was off to the library to look for more introductory volumes for Ancient Runes. The rest of his group were going to join him, some for homework purposes, some simply to stick with the group at large.

As the six Slytherins exited the Great Hall, Harry’s streak of normality was unfortunately about to come to a rather screeching halt. 

The sextet noticed a commotion at the bottom of the marble staircase. In typical fashion, that was the exact direction in which they needed to travel in order to reach their destination. 

As they drew nearer, they all spotted the exact cause of the uproar. 

A small, red-headed girl wearing Slytherin robes was standing a few steps from the bottom floor, very obviously wanting to get through. Standing in front of her, with the Git-Who-Lived at his side, was Ron Weasley, who was very clearly not letting his younger sister past. The approaching group of Slytherins could hear Weasley giving his sister a rant for the ages about how she was in some way or another a disgrace to the Weasley family because she had been sorted into the house of junior Death Eaters. Charlus said nothing beside him, but he didn’t exactly do anything to stop the tirade either.

“Oi, Weasley!” Harry said as the group suddenly closed in on the commotion. Ron whirled, red-faced and blotchy to spot the group of students who were now directly in front of him. If the narrowing of his eyes was anything to go by, he wasn’t overly thrilled to find a group of Slytherins standing nearby, least of all in his current state of mind. 

To Harry’s mild annoyance, he found his twin brother to be glaring at him, but he ignored the git altogether. Honestly, if Charlus wanted to be petty, that was his own decision. Harry had better things to do than return his brother’s ire. 

“What do you want, Potter?” It was very clear by Weasley’s snarling voice that his patience, which seemed essentially non-existent at the best of times, was running particularly thin today.

“Well, Weasley, since you asked so nicely, I’d really appreciate it if you’d get out of the way. And while you’re at it, maybe don’t harass your sister for the colour of her robes. For somebody who goes on and on about how bigoted our house is, you seem to spend an awful lot of time judging other people.”

There was a very brief pause when the tension in the air was palpable and Harry realized a fraction of a second too late that he had pushed Weasley just a little bit too far. Before he could do so much as move, the other boy brought his hand up, hard, curling it into a fist as he did so and smashing it forcefully into Harry’s nose. 

Harry did not fall, or cry out, or give any other major reaction beyond stumbling back, as much in surprise as pain. Honestly, Ron Weasley’s punch paled in comparison to that of Dudley, who was twice his size. Even that said nothing for Vernon on the rare occasions when that had been a reality. In saying that, Harry did immediately notice a thin stream of blood was now flowing from his nose. 

Harry had two, conflicting instincts. The first was to draw his wand and curse Ronald Weasley into oblivion. The second, unfortunately, was a direct contradiction to the first. It was to either run or cower. Not because he feared Ron Weasley, or even because the punch had done a whole lot. But because for the majority of his life, those had been his only two options when somebody lashed violently out at him.

Fortunately for Harry, before he could make a decision, Ron Weasley had five wands aimed directly at his face. Luckily for the red-head, Charlus dove towards his best friend, knocking them both to the floor and causing the spells of Daphne, Blaise and Tracey, who had all cast at once and without hesitation, to sail over the two boys’ heads. 

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

Before the duel could truly break out, a loud voice permeated the air and in seconds, yet another red-head had joined the fray. This one was, however, the eldest Hogwarts attending son of the Weasley family, and his Prefect’s badge gleamed importantly on his chest. Seconds later, a blonde Ravenclaw Prefect whom Harry did not know followed Percy into the commotion. It was her who forcefully commanded all of the younger students to put their wands away as Percy began to verbally take his brother to task. 

“And what, exactly, is going on here?” asked a silky smooth voice just as the commotion was quieting down, with the exception, of course, of the crowd that had gathered around them, obviously trying to instigate something. It was, as Harry had known immediately from the man’s voice, Snape. Before anybody could get a word in, Charlotte was speaking, and Harry had to resist the urge to widen his eyes. As opposed to her normally smooth, confident voice, Charlotte put on a frightened, rambling tone that perfectly portrayed the wide eyed, innocent first year girl who could win over any teacher who she set eyes upon.

“Harry’s been attacked, Professor! That boy just punched him in the face! We were just trying to get by, Professor, I promise!”

“Rubbish!” Weasley spat back. “They were harassing us, they were-“

“Show him your face, Harry!” Charlotte commanded in a more normal tone of voice, cutting forcefully across the sputtering red-head. Indeed, Harry had been squeezing his nose in an effort to stem the flow of blood a moment before. He’d actually planned to heal the malady with the Episkey spell that Calypso had taught him last year, but the Ravenclaw Prefect had been rather insistent about no wands, and her and the eldest Weasley had been rather busy preventing all of the students from killing one another.

“Your face, Potter.” Snape seconded, levelling Harry with his dark, intense eyes. Hesitantly, Harry removed his hand, which immediately allowed the blood to flow more freely. Snape scowled and made to draw his wand and aim it at Harry, but the Slytherin youth flinched back. Something changed in Snape’s eyes in that exact moment, and he seemed to change tact.

“Weasley!” he snapped, obviously in reference to Ron. “You will come with me, now! We will be seeing your Head of House.” Ron made to protest, but his older brother shoved him forward and before he could resist any further, Snape had taken a vice like grip on his arm and had begun to lead him up the marble staircase and towards Professor McGonagall’s office.

“Move along, everybody, move along!” Percy Weasley ordered, gesturing for the crowd to to return to whatever they deemed to be normality. Charlus glared at Harry one last time before trotting off in the direction of the Great Hall. Ginny Weasley made to follow, but Harry watched as she was stopped by her older brother before she could get there, right before he and the rest of his group returned on their path to the library.

“Harry, you should find somebody to fix your nose.” Daphne said immediately. 

Harry rolled his eyes, batting her hand away as she reached out towards him. “Get off, Daphne, I can do it myself.” With a well-practiced motion, Harry’s wand was in his hand and a second later, he had stopped the flow of blood.

Blaise whistled. “Where’d you learn that one?”

“Calypso.” Harry answered honestly, seeing no reason to lie. 

“Wish the elder Weasley would have let us curse the idiot!” Daphne said, rubbing the handle of her wand suggestively. 

“He’s not worth detention.” Harry said reasonably. 

“That’s your opinion, Harry.”

“Yes, it is. Personally, I’ll be perfectly happy with a normal year at Hogwarts. I’d rather stay out of all of this drama. If Weasley’s going to be a git, he may as well get it out of his system now. Next time, I’ll make sure to be ready and won’t let him get off a lucky punch.”

“You took it well, though.” Blaise complimented with a smirk, drawing a glare from Daphne.

If it wasn’t for the two tagalong first years, Harry might have chanced a rather morbid joke about his childhood. Instead, he settled for a more normal reply. “Why thank you, Blaise. But honestly, the prat hits like an eight year old. It was more his doing than mine.”

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom…** _

Ginny crossed her arms and stared up at her oldest brother residing within the castle. She couldn’t say that she appreciated being dragged off in front of about a hundred onlookers by a Prefect, let alone her brother. For one thing, it was rather embarrassing. For another, she could only imagine what people would be saying in a few hours if her brother had indeed not exaggerated the Hogwarts rumour mill.

“What is it that’s so important that you literally had to drag me off in front of half of the school, Percy?”

Percy raised his hands in a placating manner. “Is it a crime for a brother to worry about his little sister, Ginny?”

“I’m fine, Percy.”

“Like hell you are! I saw your reaction the night of the sorting. And honestly, I might not be cunning like all of you lot in green and silver, but I am observant, Ginny, especially when I want to be. You’ve sat alone at most of the meals, and I can’t remember seeing you talking with anyone. Either this means you’re being forcefully cast out of the group by the others, or it means you’re doing so voluntarily, which implies that you’re not having an easy time integrating into the house.”

Ginny blinked rapidly. “You… figured all of that out just from watching me?” Percy just stared back at her, as if implying that should have been obvious. “I think the hat made a mistake.” Ginny said bitterly. “Maybe it should’ve been you in Slytherin.”

Percy’s eyes darkened as he made a weak attempt at humour. “Hey! All outstandings on my O.W.L’s, remember?” When the joke fell flat, Percy sighed. “Okay, fine, you’re not in the mood and I’m not as funny as the twins.” He looked as if that revelation physically pained him. “But can you at least be honest with me, Ginny? What’s gone on this week? Are you okay? Can I help in any way?”

Now, it was Ginny’s turn to sigh. “Okay, okay, I can tell you’re not going to drop this. It’s been… hard, I guess. I… never expected to end up in Slytherin. I always thought I’d be like you guys and be in Gryffindor, you know? Even if I didn’t, I thought maybe Hufflepuff, but never Slytherin. It was… it is… a bit…” she trailed off, not knowing how to finish the thought.

“Shocking?” Percy offered gently. “Jarring? Off-putting?”  
Has  
“Yeah, all of those things, honestly. It’s-it’s been hard.” Ginny admitted in a small voice. “I always looked forward to Hogwarts, you know? Mum was always super overprotective-“

“It’s because she loves you, Ginny-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get that, but it’s still true, isn’t it?” Reluctantly, Percy nodded. “She’s never really let me go out and make friends aside from Luna, who’s sweet, but a bit…” again, she let her thought trail off. “There’s been you guys, but your family; that’s different. Lee’s been over a bunch with the twins, but they’ve always been too old to be interested in spending much time with me. Then there’s Charlus.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “I liked him, once, but then I realized that there’s nothing there for me. He just saw me as another stupid little fan girl and never as a person. 

I thought that Hogwarts would be my chance to make friends, but now…” Ginny wasn’t crying. She refused to cry about something like this, but she would be lying if she didn’t dab at the corners of her eyes. 

Percy awkwardly stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you can still make friends, you know?”

“Nobody in Slytherin wants to be friends with a poor blood traitor, Percy.”

“We’re more than that, Ginny.”

“I know that, but you don’t get how it is in Slytherin.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Ginny had to actually think about that before answering. “Yes… no — I don’t know.”

In spite of himself, Percy smiled. “Use your words, Ginny.” he joked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mister perfect O.W.L scores. Not everyone is the next coming of Merlin and a perfect scholar and all the rest.”

“I’m being serious, Ginny.”

She sighed. “I know, sorry, it’s just… I really don’t know. A lot of my yearmates are being complete prats! I can’t go two minutes without getting sneered at, or having them look down their noses at me like I’m dirt. Most of them don’t actually say or do anything, but they don’t really need to. They make it pretty clear what they think of me.”

“Most of them?”

Ginny hesitated. “There was… a bit of a mess in the dorms the first night. One of the girls kind of went off on me and the family and we kind of got into a row.”

“What happened?” Percy asked, eyes narrowing.

“A couple of the other girls broke it up.”

“Who were they?”

“Weitts and Slater, I think their names are.”

At the mention of “Weitts” Ginny caught the widening of Percy’s eyes, brief as it was. “Do you want a bit of advice, Ginny?”

“Sure, can’t really get much worse, can it?”

“Make friends with those two.”

Ginny actually laughed. “Percy, they’re the daughters of two rich, powerful, pureblood families. They’re going to want nothing to do with a filthy little blood traitor.”

“Ginny, if that hat put you in stinking Slytherin, can you at least try and act like one and use a bit of cunning?” Ginny gaped back at her older brother, completely incredulous. “Come on, Ginny. If the two of them stepped in, they obviously don’t think you’re a ‘filthy blood traitor.’”

“Oh, give it a rest, Percy. They obviously just wanted to sleep; said so themselves.”

“Of course they’d say that, but they could have slept just as easily if they’d let it go on for another minute. It probably would’ve burnt itself out in the same amount of time it took them to resolve it, and probably would have been a lot easier and less risky on their end.” With no small amount of surprise, Ginny realized that Percy was actually right. “If they stepped in, they’re at least curious about you. If you want friends, Ginny, that’s a good place to start.”

Ginny felt her heart quicken as she imagined approaching Charlotte Weitts. The girl was honestly intimidating. The feeling she had given off when in Travers’s face… that was not an enemy Ginny wanted to create. “I’ll… try, Percy.”

“That’s the most a brother can ask for, right?” 

Tentatively, Ginny smiled weakly back at him. “Speaking of brothers,” she said in a rather small voice, “how are the others taking this? I… haven’t heard from any of them. Except for Ron, obviously”

Percy sighed. “I don’t think the twins know how to take it, to be honest.”

Ginny scowled. “Probably think I’m a disgrace. A blite on the family name.”

“No!” Percy said defiantly. “That’s not it at all.”

“What else is it then, Percy?”

Percy hesitated. ”Well… you know the twins, don’t you? They’re natural defense is humour, and pranking, and the like. Obviously, they don’t want to prank their little sister, so that one’s out. And humour… well, say what you want about them, but they’re not THAT insensitive.” Percy paused, scratching his head in thought. “I don’t think they are, anyways. They don’t know how to approach you, Ginny. They don’t know what to say. They’re with you, I promise. Just… give them time.”

Ginny had no idea whether or not she believed Percy but for now, she would take his word. After all, he had proven to be remarkably insightful thus far in their conversation and suddenly, Ginny was not so regretful that she had been dragged off here, after all. “What about Ron?” she asked a bit bitterly. “He made it pretty clear back there what he thinks of Slytherin, and me being in it.”

Percy hesitated. “Ron’s just… confused and immature. It’s sort of like the twins; he doesn’t know what to do or how to deal with it.” Percy winced. “Problem is… well, he always idolized Charlie, didn’t he? The big Quidditch hero and all that. And in the last few years, it’s been the twins. I don’t think any of them actually hate Slytherins, but they all trash you guys non stop because of Quidditch. Ron grew up with that, and his best friend is kind of hated by about half of your house.”

“So he hates Slytherins because of all that?”

“He doesn’t hate them.” Percy said, but he didn’t sound overly convinced. “He just… when a person doesn’t know what to do or how to process something, they fall back on instincts. Ron’s been conditioned to lash out at Slytherins for years. It’s pathetic behaviour and I hope he gets detention for a week, but it’s human nature. He’ll come around, eventually. He’ll realize soon enough that you’re not going to become evil just because you’re in Slytherin.”

“If you say so, Percy.”

“I’ll work on him, Ginny, I promise.”

There was a long, comfortable silence before Ginny stepped forward and surprised her older brother by wrapping her arms tightly around him. With a smile, Percy returned the gesture. “We make fun of you a lot, but I really do love you, Percy.”

Percy laughed. “I know that, Ginny. I’m an easy target, I get it. There’s no need to apologize.”

“I do have one question though.” Ginny mused as the two Weasleys split apart.

“What’s that?”

“Since when have you been so good at reading people. Like… you’re scary good at it. I joked about you taking my place earlier, but honestly, you probably could.”

Percy seemed to have some kind of internal war that lasted about ten seconds. Then, his shoulders slumped as he let out a long, heavy sigh. “You’re not the first Weasley to be told they’d do well in Slytherin, Ginny.”

Ginny actually gaped at Percy. “You… you were told you’d do well in Slytherin?”

Percy smiled sadly back at his little sister. “Worse than that, Ginny. The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It said I was more ambitious than I was brave, and more cunning than I was chivalrous even though I’d work well in either house.” he frowned. “I’m… not proud to say that I was ashamed of that for a long time, until I grew up. When the hat offered me Slytherin, I told it there was no way. A Weasley could never be sorted into Slytherin. It would send me to Gryffindor, and that was the end of it.” Percy looked down. “I feel like a bit of a prat now. Talking all that crap about Slytherins. Hell, if I’d have broken the tradition, you probably wouldn’t be getting given all this hell now. And I’d be there, to watch out for you, and-“

“Shut up, Percy! Don’t be thick! Now you’re going to blame yourself for my problems? Honestly, that’s exactly why you’re a Gryffindor.” 

Percy smiled abashedly back at Ginny. “Sorry,” he said a bit sheepishly, “it’s just… I worry, you know? I’ll try not to be overbearing or anything, Merlin knows how much you hate it when Mum does that, but I do worry.”

“And I love you for that, Percy.” Ginny said, stepping forward and hugging him one final time. “Both the worrying part, and the fact that you’re not going to harass me like our dear old Mum.” In spite of themselves, both Weasleys left the abandoned classroom a minute or so later in a fit of laughter and with a sudden rise in their overall mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A bit of a setup/transitional chapter, but it’s sort of inevitable that you’re going to get some of those at this point of each year, to be honest. There will be more action in the next chapter, and some rather important setup for events that will soon be taking place.**
> 
> **Oh, and magical theory. A lot of magical theory.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 15th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to NerdDragonVoid from my Discord server for the additional edits on this chapter.**


	10. Bargains and Battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**September 5, 1992  
Malfoy Manor  
9:14 PM** _

Lucius sat behind his desk in his study, going over a frankly absurd amount of financial paperwork as he waited for his associate to arrive. It had been a rather dull day as a whole and truthfully, whether the business was more complex or not, Lucius was very much looking forward to a break from the repetitive flow of normality that had made up the entirety of his day. 

Right on cue, Lucius felt the wards alert him to his associate’s arrival. Lucius had provided him with a Portkey tied into the wards, but they still alerted him nonetheless. As soon as this happened, Lucius found that his mundane notes could no longer hold his attention. So instead, he sat up and sighed, rubbing needily at a twinge in his neck before folding his hands in front of him, blanking his face and tilting up his chin, taking the most regal pose he could muster as he awaited his visitor. 

Moments later, there was a knock on the door to his study, and Lucius called for the man to enter, pointing his serpentine cane at the door and causing it to unlock and allow the hulking figure through. Nothing of the figure could be discerned from a glance, aside from the fact that he was massive. He wore a long, black cloak with a large hood that easily obscured his large, square head. 

In spite of this, Lucius knew exactly who had entered his study. In fact, he had worked with the man for many, many years. Actually, a more accurate statement might have been that the man had worked for him for many, many years, but there had been that period of time more than a decade ago when the two of them had, in a sense, worked together.

“Crabbe.” Malfoy greeted silkily as the vast arm of Vincent Crabbe Sr. reached up to lower his hood and reveal his face. 

“Lucius.” Crabbe responded in his deep, baritone voice.

“I trust you have news for me on our… matter of business?”

Crabbe nodded. “He says he needs help.” the man responded gruffly.

Lucius frowned. “Help? I was unaware that the option of asking for help was on the table. My impression was that I made the job very clear. If he could do it, I would pay him.”

“He says it isn’t possible without it.” Crabbe grunted. “Says she’s too careful; keeps out of harm's way.”

Malfoy tilted his head. “Which is precisely why we went to him in the first place. It was his job to formulate a plan of attack that would draw her out of her bubble.”

“He has a plan.” Crabbe informed him. “Got it all worked out and everything, but he needs some stuff he can’t afford to make it work.”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow, reluctantly intrigued. “Enlighten me, then.”

In response, Crabbe reached a large, calloused hand into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew a rather crumpled, slightly stained piece of parchment. Lucius wrinkled his nose, gesturing for the man in front of him to place it on his desk rather than have him touch it directly. The mere idea of doing so was unbefitting. When the parchment had been placed delicately in front of him, Lucius leaned slightly forward in his chair and allowed his cold, grey eyes to roam over the parchment. 

At first, he almost let out an exclamation at how outrageous the man’s demands were. After all, was a fabulously generous commission not enough? But then, as he read more and more, Lucius’s eyes narrowed. It was over the top, for certain, but at the same time, it was simplistic and efficient, if admittedly expensive. But then again, the matter had not been inexpensive for Lucius from the get-go, so what did more galleons matter in the grand scheme of things?

Lucius would need to alter the man’s plan, but it had merit. At least, its general format had merit. The specifics could be altered, that was not difficult.

“Very well,” Lucius acquiesced, “inform our… mutual acquaintance that I have accepted his request, but I will be making some alterations to his plan. His new instructions will find their way to him late next week, at the earliest. At worst, they will arrive early the week after. As for the… materials he asked for, they’ll be kept in storage until another piece of my altered plan slides into place.”

Crabbe widened his eyes. “You’re actually gonna do it?”

“That is what I just said, is it not?” Lucius asked, causing Crabbe to fidget uncomfortably. “Money isn’t everything, Crabbe.” Malfoy said wisely, correctly guessing where the other man’s mind had been venturing. “At least, not in the sense that it should never be spent. After all, what is the point of an illustrious name and expansive Gringotts vault if it isn’t put to good use?”

_**September 6, 1992  
A Room in The Dungeons of Hogwarts  
7:58 PM** _

Harry neared the door to the abandoned room in the dungeons more slowly than usual. Per Grace’s words prior to their first lesson in combat magic, there were wards on this room. Harry tried to feel something as he approached the door, but couldn’t. Usually, he could feel some magic on objects. Last year, for instance, the Mirror of Erised had practically radiated magic. It was true that he could rarely, if ever, deduce what said magic was being used for, but he could usually feel it in some capacity. As he approached the room, however, Harry had to grudgingly admit that he felt nothing. He wasn’t sure if this was standard for wards, or whether they had just been cast particularly well. When taking into account who had actually cast them last year, the latter was a distinct possibility.

Pushing all of these thoughts aside, Harry pushed open the door and nearly jumped when he caught a sudden flash of fire out of the corner of his eye. Just in time, Harry cast his eyes to the desk, where something resembling a piece of parchment was curling into ashes as Grace’s eyes lifted to meet his own. For someone who had just seemingly been right next to something that had apparently spontaneously combusted, she seemed remarkably composed. In fact, she gave no hint of a visible reaction. “You’re early.” she observed, as if nothing at all had happened.

Harry just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be interrupting anything.”

“You weren’t interrupting anything.” Grace assured. “Just a project, that’s all.”

“Right,” Harry said, wondering what project could have resulted in the effect he had witnessed, “so tonight’s Occlumency, right?”

“It is.” Grace affirmed. “I think we’ll stick with the first session each week as combat magic focused, with the second being taken up by work on your Occlumency.”

“Are the days changing, then?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet.” Grace answered. “Possibly, we’ll have to see how my schedule shapes up as the year progresses. Yours as well, even though you’re not as busy. If certain days work better than others, feel free to let me know. If you don’t want to make a scene about it, you can always just send me a letter with one of the school owls.”

Harry shrugged again. “I doubt I’ll have to, but I’ll keep it in mind. I keep fairly busy, but it’s on my own schedule.”

“I figured as much.” Grace said with a nod. “Well, tonight should hopefully be the final night we work on your ability to sense blunt probes in your mind. The practice is really the same for more subtle Legilimency probes; it’s just a mental memory thing you’ll get with practice. But if I’m right, you’re advanced enough to move onto the second level of Occlumency.”

Harry’s heart leapt. “Is that what we’ll be doing tonight, then?”

“No,” Grace said, and there was actually an apologetic tone to her voice, “I need to make sure I’m right, not just jump in head-first. I’ll be running you through some tests tonight that will hopefully tell us one way or the other whether you’re ready to advance. If all goes well, our next Occlumency lesson should be an introduction to stage two.”

Harry nodded, setting his jaw. “Alright, so what do I need to do?”

_**A few hours later, in the Slytherin Dorms…** _

Harry placed silencing charms around his bed, along with a detection ward. If anybody approached too close, he would be mentally alerted at once. For now, these were the only wards Harry was actually capable of casting due to his limited knowledge of Ancient Runes, but the detection ward alone had been a very large step in the right direction. From this point forward, warding was something that he planned on putting a certain amount of emphasis on. At least, when his other pursuits allowed him the time to do so.

Once he was reasonably confident with his setup, Harry laid back on his four-poster bed and withdrew the book that he used as a means of communicating with Emily Riddle.

_So, my Occlumency tutor ran me through some tests tonight to determine whether I’m ready to advance to the second level of Occlumency._

There was a delay of about two minutes before Riddle’s reply came.

_Interesting. What did she find to be the results?_

_She thinks I’m ready to progress. Her plan is for our next Occlumency lesson, which should be in about a week, to be an introduction to stage two._

_How very interesting. You are consistently able to detect her presence in your mind, then?_

_Yes,_ Harry wrote in answer, _at least when she’s using more blunt probes. According to her, I don’t need to be able to detect more subtle breaches to advance. She said that’s something I’ll sort of just pick up in time, but it’s no reason not to advance. According to her, it would only be an excuse to slow down my progress._

This didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Harry, but he hadn’t asked Grace to elaborate too far on the point. That was mainly because he knew he had Emily to ask questions. For as good as Grace very clearly was with the mind arts, the knowledge that Emily seemed to have at her disposal was incredible. Back in July, for instance, when updating Grace on his progress, she had not just been flabbergasted at how fast he had progressed, but baffled as to how on earth he had even gone about progressing that fast in the first place. That alone led Harry to believe that Emily understood the subject on a deeper level, but if it hadn’t, their conversations in the nearly two months following certainly had done. 

He trusted Grace on the matter, but he did want Emily’s opinion. Plus, he had promised that she would have some say in his progression when he agreed to accept her assistance. 

_I like your tutor._ Emily decided. _It is not a traditional method of teaching, per se, but one that I very much agree with. Most people would have you slave away while trying to gain a proficiency for detecting more subtle probes. The fact of the matter is, such practices at this stage would be trivial._

_The reason you work on detecting not just irregularities, but intrusions in particular, is so that your mind gains a memory for what it feels like when another person projects their magic onto your mind to form a connection. No matter how subtle, the feeling of a connection does not change, it is simply more difficult to detect. Over time, your mind will slowly become more and more adept at sensing these connections. Having a mind that is not yet adept in the process is no limitation for learning stage two Occlumency. As a matter of fact, some of the skills learned in stage two will actually expedite the process of acquiring said memory._

Part of Harry wanted to inquire more about the next stage of Occlumency, but part of Harry also badly wanted to sleep. He decided for a compromise, choosing to ask a hopefully less tasking question. _How exactly do you know all of this? You can only really go through the process once, right?_

_Such an insightful question. I hypothesized about Occlumency and Legilimency for quite some time. As you can imagine, hypotheses in the latter are much easier to put to the test for reasons that I sincerely hope are self-explanatory. For the former, there are ways of testing. For instance, teaching is one way of study. Do not fret, you are not the first I have guided along in the art of Occlumency, and therefore not by any means a test subject. Arithmancy at a frankly absurd level can also be somewhat used to simulate the effects of certain manipulations of magic on one’s mind, but this is a very complex topic that requires a certain understanding of not only the intricacies of magic, but some fundamental properties of the human brain._

And that was about when Harry was done with that conversation. Fascinating as it all was, he had hoped for a less tasking answer mentally. While he appreciated Emily’s insightfulness, open nature and willingness to elaborate, he really was far too tired for any of it. Active Occlumency had that effect on him, which Grace said was normal because his brain was still adapting to the process.

Ugh! He was doing it again, going even further down the rabbit hole. He regretfully thought that perhaps, sleep may not come as fast as he would like it to.

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin girls’ dormitories…** _

Laine giggled at a joke Charlotte made just as the two of them stepped towards the entrance to their dormitory. As soon as they stepped inside, both of them had to dive to the side as a poorly aimed spell sailed in their general direction. Disoriented, the two girls climbed to their feet and did their best to judge the situation while trying not to end up on the wrong side of yet another of the off-target jinxes in the process.

When they got themselves into a good enough position as not to be cursed unintentionally, it was fairly obvious what exactly was going on.

Ginny Weasley and Evelyn Travers were duelling. 

More specifically, at the moment, Ginny was dodging curses and trying not to end up on the wrong end of the other’s wand. In the rare occasions where she did manage to find an opening and attempt to retaliate, Charlotte noticed that the spells she fired back were nearly harmless. Evelyn wasn’t exactly packing a significant punch either, but she very clearly had a more diverse spell arsenal than Ginny. Given the notorious moral ambiguity of Evelyn’s family, and the notorious moral compass of the Weasleys, this was not wholly surprising. 

It was, however, rather annoying to enter the dorm late at night to this kind of a scuffle after making it quite clear that if one of these were to take place again, it should not do so within the confines of the dormitory. 

“Flipendo.”

Unseen by the other combatant, Charlotte sent Evelyn sailing backwards with a well-placed knockback jinx. Ginny whirled, confused and startled by the newcomer, but Charlotte had hit her with a disarming spell before she could do much more than turn around. As soon as Ginny’s wand had left her hand, however, Charlotte’s attention left her completely as she stormed forward, advancing quickly on the fallen form of Evelyn Travers, who was slowly making her way to her feet, looking to be shaken.

“Not another step.” Charlotte said harshly, aiming her wand directly at the other Slytherin’s face.

“What are you playing at, Weitts?”

“What I’m playing at is ending this, Travers. If you’re going to be such a pest, do it in the common room. I’m done putting up with it in the dorms, and so are the rest of our classmates.”

“Did you notice the fact that both of us were throwing spells, Weitts? Why do you blame it completely on me?”

Evelyn winced immediately after completing her sentence, as a well-aimed stinging hex from Charlotte caught her off guard. Using the distraction, Charlotte stepped close to Evelyn, grabbing the smaller girl by the collar of her robes and pulling her forward, using her other hand to hold her wand up against her throat.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Travers. I watched you start it the first time, so I don’t see why this time would be any different. Weasley has pretty much minded her own business all week, so I doubt she’s looking for a fight. She’s just too Gryffindor not to end up in one.”

“But she did start it, Weitts. You’re being played-“

“Liar.” Charlotte hissed, making hard eye contact with Evelyn and drawing a shiver from the other girl. “You were trying to get into her trunk; she told you to stop, and you told her to give you the password or you’d curse her, and all hell broke loose.” Evelyn suddenly became too busy trying to pick her jaw up from the floor to retort, and Charlotte got in her final word. 

“I’m done putting up with this, Travers. Do it in the common room or not at all. We don’t want it in the dorms and the rest of the school shouldn’t see it outside of the dungeons. If you think I’m picking sides now, wait until you try it again.” With that, Charlotte shoved her backwards, sending her stumbling a few steps before tossing her wand back at her. When Travers stormed furiously out of the dorms, Charlotte rounded on Ginny, who took an involuntary step backwards.

“Relax, Weasley, I’m not going to curse you.” Ginny did relax marginally, though she still remained rather tense. Charlotte had an aura about her when she was angry, as if heat was emanating off of her in waves. That, mixed with the way her eyes shone was a rather intimidating visage. “You should get a trunk with a lock on it, Weasley. The only reason she didn’t manage to get into it was because she didn’t even think about there not being a password. If nothing else, it will probably make the dorm more peaceful, which would be great for all of us.”

Ginny flushed and looked down. “I couldn’t get a trunk like that.” she mumbled, clearly unwilling to state the obvious, but Charlotte got the hint.

Charlotte sighed. “I’ll order you a trunk.” she said, and Ginny looked up sharply, jaw agape.

“You-you’ll what?”

“I’ll order you a trunk.” Charlotte repeated. “Yours makes you look like an easy target, which is one of the reasons Travers isn’t leaving you alone for more than a few seconds each night. If you give her fewer reasons to think she can be a bother, she’ll stop trying. Personally, I am a miserable person when I don’t sleep, so I’ll give up a few galleons to make sure that I do.”

“You-you don’t have to do that.” Ginny protested.

“Well, obviously not.” Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes. “But I just offered, didn’t I? If it bothers you that much, just chalk it up to house unity and be done with it.”

Ginny blinked. “House unity?”

Charlotte and Laine exchanged glances. It was only now that they realized exactly how clueless Ginny was about Slytherin House. Honestly, neither girl could really blame her. They both had prior knowledge of the house going in, as did the majority of people who were sorted into the Slytherin. Even those who didn’t were usually heirs or heiresses of prestigious families who were taught to read situations better than Ginny was clearly capable of doing.

Following that same concept of house unity that was not explicitly stated but heavily implied was necessary within Slytherin House; it was going to fall to Charlotte and Laine to make sure that Ginny did not weaken or embarrass the house in public.

“Tell you what, Weasley.” Charlotte said after coming to a sort of internal agreement with Laine. “The trunk should be in by next week. Meet me and Laine in the abandoned classroom nearest the Potions room next Monday at around 7:30. I’ll give you the trunk and the three of us are going to have a talk.”

Ginny looked rather apprehensive, so Laine stepped forward. “We’re not going to ambush you, Weasley.” she said, using a slightly more amicable tone than Charlotte. Charlotte was a very smooth and articulate speaker, especially for her age, but she had a sort of intimidating presence to her that Laine lacked, for the most part. Normally, that would be viewed as a disadvantage. But in a scenario like this, it was perhaps precisely what was needed. “There are just some things that you’ll need to know in order for your life not to be hell in Slytherin. Charlotte and I learned all of this before even coming to Hogwarts, and since Black and the other girl seem to be ghosts and Travers a prat, it seems like it’ll be up to Charlotte and I to explain things.” 

Ginny nodded, if a bit hesitantly, before edging questioningly towards her bed. When neither of the other two said anything more, Ginny moved towards it more certainly.

“Oh, and Weasley,” Charlotte added, making sure to get the final word in, “learn some jinxes, hexes and maybe a few curses, will you? No offense, but that was kind of painful to watch.” The last sight Charlotte and Laine saw that night was Ginny blushing as red as her hair, just as she retreated into bed for the night.

Laine sighed and leaned in towards Charlotte, speaking in a low voice. “What have you gotten us into?”

Charlotte just rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know, just doing my part for house unity and all that.” she paused. “And she has some spunk.” she said in an even lower voice. “If she can figure everything out, she’ll probably come out of her shell. Honestly, I think she could be an interesting person to watch.”

Laine looked almost incredulous. “Really? She seems scared of her own shadow, if you ask me.” 

Charlotte’s return smile was all too knowing. “Trust me on this one, Laine. You might be the sweet talker out of the two of us, but I am very good at reading people.”

_**September 7, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:11 AM** _

Harry, Blaise, Tracey and Daphne entered the Great Hall in a pack the first Monday after their return to Hogwarts. Charlotte and her friend Laine hadn’t been in the common room when the four second year Slytherins had met up, so they had elected to go to breakfast alone. As soon as they entered the hall, Harry could feel a set of eyes. Glancing in their direction, he met the glance of Cassius Warrington, who subtly gestured with his head for the four of them to join himself, Calypso and the Carrows. With a slight nod of affirmation, Harry changed course, catching his three friends off guard in the process. 

Luckily, they all followed without question, taking it all in stride as they took their seats among the older students. This did draw a few glances from the two or three first years seated at the table. Evidently, they were still trying to work out the convoluted hierarchy of Slytherin House. As Harry caught the platinum blonde hair of Draco Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, he remembered exactly when he had worked that component of the house system out. The morning after their arrival at Hogwarts last fall, when he had spotted Malfoy sitting with Macnair and his friends. It was crazy to think that in a way, that first morning had foreshadowed the rather intense conflict later in the year.

“Morning.” Cassius greeted a bit sluggishly, sipping his cup of coffee rather needily. 

“Not a morning person, are we?” Blaise observed, sounding amused by the fact.

“What was your first clue?” Cassius asked through a yawn.

“You seemed fine for matches last year.” Tracey pointed out.

Calypso sniffed. “At the point you four saw him before matches, he had digested enough caffeine to fuel a small army.”

“Oi!” Cassius protested. “You make it sound like I’m some sort of addict!”

Calypso pointedly sipped at her cup of tea, raising one, perfect brow in challenge. “When was the last morning you didn’t have at least three cups of coffee, Cassius?”

Cassius opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and closed it one more time. In the end, he just elected to return to sipping at his coffee and Calypso smiled sweetly, nodding in satisfaction before turning to the four younger students. “How was your first week?”

“Intriguing enough, I guess.” Harry answered. “Defense and Herbology was interesting. I can’t say I learned anything, but they were still fine.”

“Bit hard to learn something when you’ve got the whole curriculum memorized.” Tracey pointed out. 

“The whole curriculum?” Hestia interjected, jumping on that bone like a rabid dog. Tracey winced, shooting a slightly apologetic look in Harry’s direction.

Harry himself just sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Tracey. It’s hardly damning information, or anything.” 

“But do you actually have the whole curriculum memorized?” Flora followed up her sister’s earlier question.

“For second year, yes.” Harry admitted. “Well, not for History and Astronomy yet, but all of the other subjects.”

Calypso now looked intensely interested, but not overly surprised, Harry noted. “Have you started any third year material, Harry?”

He shrugged. “I’ve started the reading, yeah. I haven’t actually tried any of the magic, though, aside from the cheering charm.” 

“Not much in terms of new spells in third year for defense, honestly.” Calypso said with a sigh. “It was mostly focused on magical creatures. There’s the boggart banishing spell, Riddikulus, but not a whole lot other than that.”

“That’s disappointing.” Blaise put in. Defense was probably his favourite subject. His best, too, along with Charms.

“Very.” Hestia agreed, sounding rather bitter, if you asked Harry.

Just then, the seats nearest the group of eight were taken, and all of them glanced in their direction… and quickly all did double takes. 

“Good morning.” Charlotte greeted the group of older students brightly, smiling easily at all of them. Beside her, Laine did not look nearly as confident. Actually, Harry noticed that she looked rather nervous, though she admittedly did an admirable job of hiding it. 

There was a moment when Harry’s eyes met Charlotte’s and he did his best to communicate the point that this was probably a very bad idea. He was unsure if she got the message, for she just kept smiling right back at him. He was sure she knew exactly what she was doing, but he wondered if she realized how seriously some members of Slytherin House took the whole “hierarchy thing” and its unwritten set of rules. For her sake, he really hoped she did. 

Well, his sake as well, he supposed.

“Good morning.” Calypso replied as she allowed her eyes to sweep over the table. Harry followed her example, noticing that most of the table was at least subtly glancing in the direction of the first years sitting with the older students. Those who were currently entering the hall may have been fooled and think that Charlotte and Laine had been invited, but those present at the table would have seen the way the two first years had just casually sauntered up to the older group without a care in the world. “How was your first week of classes?” Calypso asked the two of them, diverting Harry’s attention off of the dilemma at hand as he refocused into the conversation. 

This was a problem to deal with later, not at this time of the morning, with classes inevitably to follow.

The ten students spent the rest of the breakfast making idle conversation, ignoring the few stares that were sent their way as they did so. After some time, the start of the first class drew near, and all ten of them got to their feet, each year group intent on heading in a different direction. Charlotte and Laine were the first to break off, seeing as they had Potions down in the dungeons. Both the second and fifth years climbed the marble staircase before separating. When they did, however, Harry felt something warm brush quickly and softly up against his hand. 

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing obviously out of place, but Calypso had fallen a bit behind the rest of her group, though she was quickly lengthening her stride to remedy that abnormality. 

As Harry then suspected and would later find out, she had slipped him a note, doing so subtly enough that not even his three rather observant friends had noticed. When he read it during a break in their first period class, passing it off as a part of the class itself, his eyebrows had risen.

_Harry,  
Meet me and Cassius tonight at 8:00. Same classroom we use for practice, which we’ll be starting again Saturday night, by the way._

_See you then,  
Calypso_

_**That night...** _

As Harry was about to leave the Slytherin common room to make sure he made it to his rather impromptu meeting with two of his older acquaintances, he spotted Charlotte sitting alone, reading a book at one of the tables near the outskirts of the room. Making a split-second decision, Harry changed course, making his way over towards her instead. She must have sensed him coming, for before he could get to her, he found her bluish-silver eyes fixated curiously upon him. 

Ignoring her intense stare, Harry slid into the chair across from her and removed his wand. Her eyes tracked it, but not warily. Harry envied people for not having the strong impulse to flinch, flee or fight whenever a weapon was drawn near them. But of course, her reaction was completely on point for that moment in time, for obviously, Harry had no intention of cursing Charlotte. 

Instead, he gave his wand a casual flick and cast a spell he had not used in some time.

“Muffliato.”

Harry could feel the magic, almost oppressive in nature, flow from his wand and settle heavily in the air around them. Suddenly, the noise coming from the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background. It was there, but far less noticeable. Harry also knew that the rest of the room would be able to hear nothing of their conversation, not unless they edged rather close to them. Charlotte very obviously made to kickstart the conversation, but Harry held up a hand, forestalling her. 

Glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched, Harry quickly traced his wand through the air in tight, precise motions as he drew a specific set of runes. He had spent quite a lot of time practicing this pattern at Weitts Manor. After all, after being ambushed last year, Harry felt as if a mild sense of paranoia on his part was not completely unwarranted. A minute or so later, he could feel the ward take effect. Now, if anyone came within range of penetrating the boundaries of the Muffliato spell, he would be alerted by the ward around them. Charlotte was looking at him with unmasked curiosity now as he reholstered his wand. 

“Just making sure we won’t be overheard.” He said in place of an answer.

Charlotte just raised an eyebrow. “What was that first spell?” she asked him. “I’ve never heard that incantation before.”

“I would be very surprised if you had.” Harry told her. After the hint Voldemort had given him last year while disguised as Hurst about the spell not being one he should let people know that he was aware of, Harry had attempted to research it. To his surprise, his attempts had yielded nothing. 

He couldn’t even find mention of the spell anywhere, let alone why it would be so unfortunate if “certain individuals” found out he was using it. That fact had made it all the more surprising when Charlus had known of it last year. The bit about Harry’s twin learning the spell from James, who had apparently learned of it from Lily before making it somewhat of a standard for Aurors was certainly interesting, but not exactly helpful for him in terms of furthering his understanding. Perhaps it would be something to ask Emily about at some point? Perhaps she might know something about it.

“That’s very helpful.” Charlotte retorted sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Harry said genuinely, “I was lost in thought. From what I can tell, it’s a ridiculously powerful privacy spell. It literally makes it impossible for anybody to eavesdrop into our conversation from nearby. I’m not even sure if there is any way to breach it at all.”

Charlotte definitely looked interested now. “Teach me.”

Harry’s lips twitched at the demanding tone of her voice. “Not now.”

Charlotte actually attempted to pout. The look didn’t suit her, but Harry did find it intensely amusing. 

When he said nothing further, Charlotte just crossed her arms. “Fine, what about the second spell?”

“It wasn’t really a spell, depending on how you look at it. It’s a sort of detection ward. It’ll warn me if anybody gets within range of the first spell. Basically, this conversation is literally impossible for anybody to eavesdrop on.” he hesitated. “Unless they’re some sort of prodigy, maybe, but we used the spell all of last year and nobody ever eavesdropped on us. And that was before I even knew how to cast the ward.”

“Interesting,” Charlotte mused, “well, since I know you weren’t planning on coming over here and that you meant to leave the room altogether, I’m assuming you want something?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You really have to stop legilimizing people.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I’m working on it. Besides, it’s not my problem if you can’t even block a probe that has no intent behind it.”

“I’m working on it.” Harry said with another twitch of his lips, happily turning Charlotte’s own words against her.

“Well,” she bit back with a sigh, “until you figure that out, you can hardly be upset with me for gleaning your thoughts, can you?”

“You don’t exactly sound like it was an accident this time.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I heard footsteps and got curious.”

“That… actually sounds extremely useful.” Harry admitted.

“It’s annoying sometimes right now, but it has its uses, yes.” Charlotte peered at him expectantly. “Well, I’m assuming you still need to be somewhere, so what was it you wanted, exactly?”

Right, she had a point. He had been told to show up at a specific time. “You do realize what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Charlotte blinked. “Um… trying to be a decent friend by not letting you get sidetracked?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No… I mean, yes, but no.” Charlotte was clearly resisting a smirk with some difficulty. “I mean with your antics at mealtimes.”

Realization dawned in Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh, is that what this is about, really?”

“Charlotte, I’m serious. You’d be surprised how stuck up some people are about things like that.”

“No, I really wouldn’t be.” she answered. “Harry, you’ve been in my household. Can you honestly tell me that you think I haven’t noticed exactly the kind of reactions it’s been getting? And that’s just ignoring the fact that I can — jeez, I don’t know — find out what people are actually thinking.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.” Harry retorted. “You might realize all that, but I don’t think you understand how some people might react. They’ll take it as a challenge, Charlotte. It happened to me last year. Before I knew what was happening, I was up against a fourth year and a sixth year.”

“Oh, so that’s how the whole dragon thing happened, then?” Charlotte asked, smirking in satisfaction as Harry’s mask slipped, surprise briefly showing on his face. “Oh, come on,” Charlotte said, actually sounding exasperated, “give me some credit, will you? Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to make that connection?”

“You’re really not making this easy, are you?” Harry asked with a sigh.

“It’s not my fault if you let interesting information slip.”

“Yes, Charlotte, that is a part of how the dragon incident happened. There is a lot more to it than that, but it’s a part of it. If you haven’t figured this out yet, that isn’t exactly a good thing. I know I’ve been vague about that whole incident, but since you’re so interested, let me spell it out for you. 

“I got jumped by a fourth year and a sixth year. They bound me, dragged me into a room and told me exactly how they were going to frame me for dragon smuggling, get me expelled from Hogwarts, exiled from the Potter family, and sent straight to Azkaban.” Charlotte’s eyes actually widened at that, if only for a second. “Oh, and the sixth year had fun hitting me with some kind of torture curse while he was at it. Honestly, their plan was a good one. If everything hadn’t lined up perfectly, there’s no way I would have been able to turn it on them. Even the way it turned out, it all could have gone terribly wrong if they had just been a little bit more careful.” 

It was true, after all. If Macnair or Selwyn had simply opened the decoy crate… well, Harry wasn’t exactly sure what would have happened, but he was fairly confident that it would not have been pleasant. 

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “You shouldn’t have let them get off so easily.” she said darkly. “Their families having to pay fines isn’t enough for that kind of attack.”

“I was more focused on self-preservation, Charlotte. Which is exactly what I’m trying to get across to you. There are people in this house that will take something small and blow it up like that. They’ll look for an opportunity and when it comes, they will try and ruin you. Your sister won’t be able to jump in and help you, either. The older years are supposed to stay out of younger year drama, for the most part.”

“Who says I need my sister’s help?”

“If some of the more talented upper years decide you’re a target, you probably would.”

“You’re entitled to that opinion, Harry.”

“Charlotte-“

“Harry, I get it, ok. If it means so much to you, I’ll at least watch my back, alright? I have very specific reasons for doing what I’m doing, and I’m not going to stop, at least not yet. I know exactly what I’m doing. But… I’ll try and be a little bit more careful, okay?”

Harry sighed; it was likely the best he was going to get, and he really did have to be off to his meeting. “Just keep it all in mind.” were his last words before he stood and exited the common room, now walking at a much faster pace than he had planned in order to be on time to meet his two older friends.

Some minutes later, Harry arrived at the room in question, cursing internally at the fact that he was technically two minutes late for the meeting. Thinking back to his discussion with Grace about the wards on their room in the dungeons from the previous week, Harry tried to feel the wards on this room, but he couldn’t. Unlike the other set of wards, Harry had definitely been cued into these ones. It had actually taken a drop of blood from his finger to do so. That had intrigued Harry quite a bit at the time, but he had not asked questions on the topic. 

“Sorry I’m late.” he said as he pushed his way through the door, noticing that Cassius and Calypso were both sitting at the room’s lone table, a fairly long one set in its corner. “I got a bit held up on my way out of the common room.”

“Eh, no worries.” Cassius dismissed. “It’s not exactly like we’re on a strict schedule or anything.” Harry glanced curiously between the two of them as he took a seat directly across from Calypso. Cassius sat on her left, Harry’s right. He tried his best to glean what this whole thing may have been about, but try as he might, he could deduce nothing.

“Since you don’t seem like you’re going to ask,” Calypso started, “I guess we should probably get to the point and explain what this is all about.”

“That would probably be a good start.” Harry agreed.

Calypso glanced to Cassius, who leaned forward with an obvious gleam in his dark eyes. “Do you remember last week? The morning the two of us were out flying?”

Harry did not immediately react, not seeing where on earth this conversation was going. “Yes,” he answered carefully, “what about it?”

“Do you remember the last thing I said to you after we had first landed?”

Of course Harry remembered, but he wasn’t going to point that out to Cassius. “Trust me, Harry,” he quoted in a rather poor rendition of Cassius’s voice, which was quite a bit deeper than his own, “I am going to convince you to join.” 

There was a long pause as Harry waited for Cassius to continue the conversation. Then, his eyes widened as he looked from Cassius to Calypso, both of whom were looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to put the dots together. “You’re kidding, right?” Harry asked incredulously. “This is about Quidditch?” When Cassius nodded, Harry rounded on Calypso, confused. “If this is about Quidditch, then what are you doing here? You never stop going in on Cassius for playing it.”

“That’s because he has nothing to gain from playing it.” she said, frowning. “With no offense meant to Cassius, he’s a very good chaser, but not an amazing one. He doesn’t draw envy or inspire those around him. He definitely adds to the team, but he doesn’t really stand out. He just puts in hours upon hours of practice to be part of a solid Quidditch team.” Her dark blue eyes found Harry’s and he suddenly realized that somehow, someway, Cassius had talked her into helping him in his crusade. “You’re different though, Harry. There is actually a reason for you to play Quidditch.”

“Somebody pull the other one.” Harry muttered. “Calypso Rosier is trying to convince me to try out for the Quidditch team.”

“I’m serious, Harry.” Calypso chided, narrowing her eyes.

“I know,” he said, hardly able to believe the fact, “which honestly just makes this whole thing even crazier. I expected this from you,” Harry told Cassius, “the look in your eyes — I knew there was no chance you were going to let this drop. But Calypso? How’d you manage to talk her into this? What did you blackmail her with? It must have been good.”

“Why don’t you want to play Quidditch?” Calypso asked clinically. “You’re not exactly in the majority opinion when it comes to boys in Slytherin.”

“It takes up too much time without the reward.” Harry answered honestly. “The same reason you don’t like Cassius playing, really. I have goals, goals that I can only achieve by putting in the time. Quidditch takes away from those goals because of the time I would lose.”

“And what are those goals, exactly?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s a very personal question, Calypso.”

“Fine, don’t tell me then. That’s your decision, I’m only trying to be helpful and explain why Quidditch probably helps your goals in ways that you haven’t even considered.” she paused. “I can probably still do that, actually.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, clearly thinking hard. “Alright,” she decided, “I’m going to explain to you exactly how playing Quidditch would help you and then, if you can honestly tell me that none of those things it will help you with or feed into will aid you in your goals in any way, shape or form, we’ll let this whole thing drop and pretend it never even happened.” 

Cassius suddenly looked rather anxious, but Calypso shot him a sideways glance from the corner of her eye and he leaned back in his seat, obviously taking the hint that this was her show. 

Skeptically, Harry nodded. “Take it away then, I guess.”

“First, let’s talk about last year, when you were falsely accused of dragon smuggling.” Immediately, Harry’s guard went up, but to his surprise and mild relief, Calypso made no attempt to press him. “I’ll be honest with you, I have no idea what happened, exactly. But, I know it was a lot more than false accusations. I know Macnair and Selwyn, and they wouldn’t just accuse you. If I had to guess, you were set up, possibly even attacked and somehow managed to spin the story, probably because Macnair’s an idiot and messed up in his role. Either way, the point is that you were a target of older students.” she raised an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Hesitantly, Harry shook his head.

“I didn’t think so.” Calypso said with some satisfaction. “Now, this year, what’s to say something similar won’t happen? Macnair is probably too thick-headed to back off, and if Selwyn’s anything like the rest of his family, trust me when I say he is a vengeful son of a bitch.” Harry had to resist a reaction of surprise. He had never heard Calypso curse at all until now. “But,” she continued, “if you play Quidditch, I can guarantee that Macnair won’t be going out of his way to attack you, and the chances of Selwyn, or any older student doing so would go down greatly.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “And why is that, exactly?”

“Two reasons,” Cassius spoke up, “one, we’re brothers. We might cross paths if politics forces us to or whatever, but when push comes to shove, the team all has each other’s backs. One, because it’s obviously best for the team if all of us are healthy and ready to go. And two, because busting your ass with six other guys has a way of making you way closer than you’d ever thought you’d be.”

“And secondly,” Calypso slid in promptly, “because being on the Quidditch team is a prestigious position that is deemed important to the house. Slytherin is the house of ambition. Naturally, that means it’s full of very competitive people. That means that whether we care about Quidditch or not, we want to win. Because of that, and because of the prestige of the team, all team members are, for the most part, afforded a sort of natural protection. I can’t remember anybody ever going out of their way to make a Quidditch player’s life hell unless the player themself started it.”

“And if they did,” Cassius put in, “the rest of us would make that bastard’s life hell.”

Loathe as he may be to admit it, Harry saw exactly how advantageous that could be. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal for an older student, but for a second year with older enemies more dangerous than themself…

“Ok,” Harry said grudgingly, “I can… see why that would be very useful in my situation. I’m still not sure it makes up for the amount of time I’d be putting in, though.”

“Luckily, it’s not the only benefit.” Calypso informed him, leaning forward slightly. It was clear that whatever she was about to say next, it was the real reason why she was here in the first place. “As I’ve said already, the Quidditch team is a prestigious thing in our house. It will basically boost your house standing immediately, no matter how you perform. And on a Quidditch team, by far the most prestigious position is the seeker. They’re the one with all the power.”

“That would be you.” Cassius chimed in. “Your maneuverability is ridiculous. Like… honestly, I don’t think there is a single student at Hogwarts who could outfly you around a course if you were on the same broom and you’ve never even trained.” he hesitated. “Except maybe your brother, but he’s kind of a phenom.” It sounded as if that admission was quite painful for Cassius to make. Honestly, Harry didn’t like it much either, at the moment. 

Actually… challenging as it might be, the potential to beat his brother was a rather tantalizing prospect. Not just beat him, but to do it in front of the entire school. It would certainly be a way to outshine him, and what did Harry have to lose? The entire school would be sure of his defeat before the match so much as started. If he lost, he would simply be fulfilling their expectations. But if he won…

“Which is perfect,” Calypso said, “because it ties back into what I said about Cassius. He’s a good player, but he doesn’t stand out. The seeker will always stand out. And if the seeker is a standout seeker, they’ll prosper not just on the pitch, but off of it.”

“It’s no coincidence that seekers are by far the most popular and highest paid position in professional Quidditch.” Cassius pointed out. “And Harry, I know you think I’m barmy for it, but I honestly think you’d be brilliant. I know you obviously don’t believe it yet, but trust me! I’m not as smart or as talented as Calypso, or even Hestia or Flora, but I know my Quidditch.”

“And if I was a standout seeker,” Harry filled in, “it would greatly help my standing in the house. I’d be the center of attention, the golden boy on a broom and all the rest. The house would not only avoid conflict with me, but some may even try to win my favour.” Harry peered curiously at Calypso. “That sounds great and everything, and don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s your angle, exactly?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I just want the best for you?”

“I’m sure you do,” Harry said dryly, “but I’m also sure that’s a half-truth. It might be what’s best for me, but you have an angle, and I want to hear it.”

Calypso smiled. “I like that about you, Harry. You don’t miss much, even at your age. Of course I have an angle. I’m your friend, so obviously I want the best for you, but by being your friend, I also benefit from your success. So do Greengrass, Davis and Zabini. So do Hestia and Flora. So do Weitts and Slater. But focusing on us specifically — me, Cassius, Hestia and Flora. Next year, we’ll be sixth years and the elder Weitts will be gone. The house is going to be in a state of flux. It will be chaos, an all-out scramble to take the top spot.”

“And you’re going after it.” Harry said, nodding along. Suddenly, it all made sense. “You have the magical ability to back your claim, easily. Between your talent and influence, you can probably gain the favour of a lot of upper years. Cassius can pull from some of the crowd that are Quidditch fanatics in supporting you. But if you had me, the best student in my year, an Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House, and a star Quidditch seeker, I could draw from pretty much every group in the younger years. I could win favour with them, and if I supported you outright, you’d have a wave of support behind you to back up your own ability.”

Calypso’s smile was so bright, it was practically blinding. 

“Bingo!” Cassius said with narrowed eyes.

“And in the same way that you’d benefit from me,” Harry continued, “I’d benefit from you. I’d have the ‘Slytherin Queen’ on my side, which would practically be priceless while at school. Plus, when you guys leave, I would be in fifth year and in a perfect position to take over. By being tied to you, it would make that takeover much, much easier.” Harry had not thought it was possible for Calypso to smile any wider, but he found himself proven wrong. Harry sighed. “I can’t believe I’m probably about to agree to this, but there’s one more issue that I can see.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t have a broom. Granted, my father might buy me one. If he’s anything like my brother, he’s probably a Quidditch fanatic. I’m sure he’d love to see his sons on the pitch together, even though the colour of my robes might make him nauseous.” Harry was also fairly sure that James was desperate to gain favour with him, but he did not voice that thought aloud. “But even if that’s true,” he said, “I highly doubt he could get me a broom by…” he paused, “when are tryouts again?”

“Saturday.” Cassius answered. “They were supposed to be yesterday, but Flint stepping down as captain sort of threw everything off.”

“Right,” Harry said, “I definitely don’t think my father could get me a broom in time for Saturday.”

“Luckily for you,” Calypso said easily, “I’m certain my father could get you a broom by Saturday. Not a new broom, granted, but a lightly used one that would be more than good enough to get you through tryouts.” Harry sighed, looking for any last thing to cling onto, but he saw nothing. 

“Fine,” Calypso huffed, “I’ll sweeten the deal. We’ll help you with any spell work you need help with when we practice on Saturdays since you’re going to lose so much time. And I’ll owe you one favour in the future. Any favour that doesn’t harm me, my friends, or my family in any way, shape or form.”

Harry closed his eyes before slowly, very slowly, he reopened them and met Calypso’s eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, “you win.”

__**September 11, 1992**  
A Room In The Dungeons  
8:00 PM 

Harry sat eagerly across from Grace as he awaited the beginning of his first Occlumency lesson that would focus on the art’s second level. Technically, it was supposed to be combat magic tonight, but Harry had decided he was too eager to wait until Sunday for his new training in the mind arts. “Obviously,” Grace began, “you’re aware that each tier of Occlumency has a specific main focus?” Harry nodded. “Do you have any idea what the focus is for level two?” 

“It plays off of level one.” Harry said, having read a bit ahead in his own Occlumency text. “Where level one focuses on detecting irregularities in your mind, level two focuses on actually getting rid of them.”

“A bit rough, but mostly accurate. The second level of Active Occlumency focuses on establishing ‘Occlumency shields’. It not only teaches you how to defend your mind against Legilimency attacks, but once you do it enough, the mental memory that I’ve droned on and on about will kick in. 

“The term ‘Occlumency shields’ is actually very misleading. There is no such thing as an Occlumency shield. There’s no barrier, mental or physical that stops a Legilimency probe. Even if there was, it would be useless, since Legilimency forms a connection with another person’s mind directly. There’s no medium, no middle ground where shields could be built. The way to defend against Legilimency is actually very simple. Well, the concept is simple, at least. Actually putting it into practice is a bit more complicated.”

“What do you have to do, exactly?”

“Clear your mind.” Grace said simply. “You need to focus on whatever it is that you use to clear your mind.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That seems… too easy.”

“Yes, it does. Here are the problems. Firstly, you have to be able to do it instantly. Any hesitation, and you’ve lost. If you don’t clear your mind right away, the Legilimens will have something to latch onto. Once they have an image, an idea, or an emotion, you’re in trouble. Think of your mind as an extremely complicated web. By clearing your mind, you’re making it nearly impossible for them to even see the web, let alone do anything with it. But if your mind isn’t clear, there are a countless number of strands spreading out from the web. These are emotions, thoughts, memories, anything of the sort. Once a Legilimens has a hold of one of them, they can twist it, manipulate it, or follow it to more strands and do the same with them.”

“So if I don’t clear my mind right away, they’ll latch onto a strand, which will make it much, much harder for me to force them out?”

“Exactly.”

“Lovely.” Harry said dryly; he could clear his mind very quickly, but instantly was a stretch — a very large stretch, at the moment. 

“It’s a process, Harry.” Grace said in a way far more comforting than how she usually spoke. “This is going to seem extremely daunting right now, but I promise, you’re going to get it. You have way too much natural talent not to.”

“I’m assuming there are other things that makes this even more difficult, isn’t there?”

Grace’s lips twitched. “How perceptive of you.” she said. “Yes, there is. Once a connection is formed by a Legilimens, they can obviously do everything I just mentioned, but they can also send things through the link if they’re practiced enough. Thoughts, emotions, memories, ideas… the possibilities are endless. An extremely skilled Legilimens can be terrifying because of this, since there is honestly no telling what they could do by manipulating the ability. But it does take a talented Legilimens to do it. It’s not something anybody can just do.”

“That’s… a small comfort, I guess.” 

“On a lesser scale, this ability is still very useful. Can you guess why?”

Harry thought for a moment before answering. “The Legilimens could try to disrupt your thoughts by feeding images. Which would be even more effective if they did glean something, since they might know, or at least have an idea of what might be effective.”

“Pretty much exactly that, yes. The ability to project images is a tricky one to pick up on, but it’s definitely not as hard as some of the manipulations of said ability.”

Harry sighed. “When you said this was going to be a process, you were not kidding.”

Grace actually laughed at that comment. Soft as it was, it was a rarity, and saying that would be quite a profound understatement. “No, I wasn’t.” She slipped her wand from her sleeve. “Are you ready to start?”

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster’s office…** _

Charlus stared open-mouthed at Dumbledore, who sat calmly across from him and observed his young charge with what appeared to be intense amusement. “You want me to forgive Harry, again?”

“I shall tell you the same thing that I told you almost a year ago to the day, Charlus. In my most esteemed opinion, there is nothing at all that needs forgiving.”

“But… he was going to betray us! He was going to join Voldemort!”

“I think it’s fairly obvious that this is untrue, Charlus. If that statement was true, Harry would have taken Voldemort’s offer right there and then. You cannot say he was going to do something when, in the very next moment, he did the exact opposite of the thing you are accusing him of.”

“But… he said it! He said he wanted to! Wanted to be better than me and dad, wanted to stand alone.”

“Is that ambition such a bad thing, Charlus?” Dumbledore asked. “A wise man in a muggle novel once said that you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… until you climb into their skin and walk around in it. Imagery aside, I consider that quote to be most apt in your current situation. Please, try and see things from Harry’s perspective. He was left at the home of his aunt and uncle at a year old and ignored for ten years.” Dumbledore winced. “Of course, this is mostly a mistake on my part, and a drastic one that may never be forgiven, but it is the fact of the matter whether I like to admit it or not.”

“But it was Dad who made the choice, wasn’t it?”

“In a sense, yes.” Dumbledore admitted. “But it was I who helped convince him that specific home would be suitable.” Dumbledore paused. “I do not know how much of Harry’s living situation you were made privy to, Charlus, but it was… far worse than I would ever have thought.”

“Did… did they ever hurt him, Professor? I asked him that question last year, and he didn’t answer me.”

“That fact does not surprise me.” Dumbledore said. Then, after a moment, he sighed. “Yes, Charlus, they hurt him. Fairly often and sometimes quite badly, in fact.” Charlus reared back as if struck and Dumbledore gave him a moment to compose himself before he continued. 

“Harry was left at the mercy of his aunt and uncle and abandoned by the magical world. They neglected him, Charlus. He never got the love and attention that you were pampered with by your father and godfather, to say nothing of your adoring public. And then there is you. 

“When Harry finally returned to the world in which he belonged, he finds out that his brother is famous. Remarkably famous, in fact. Harry has never stood alone in all of his life. He was cast into an oppressive shadow by his muggle relatives for ten years. And then, when he returned to the magical world, he was cast into the shadow of his family name and his brother.” Dumbledore fixed Charlus, who was now wide-eyed and stunned at this perspective, with a hard stare. “When has Harry got any attention when it is not connected to you or the Potter family?”

“At the gala.” Charlus answered at once. “They were all fawning over him because of his grades.”

“And what happened when he finally got that attention?” 

Charlus paused. “He made the paper?”

“You both made the paper. You butted into the picture and stole his spotlight. While it was true you were bested, the _Prophet_ was talking about your competition against him, not so much his own accomplishments. In the article in question, I believe they even referred to you as the more well-known of the Potter twins.” Charlus actually winced at that. 

“My point, Charlus,” Dumbledore said, “is that Harry is well within his right to earn attention. He is merely a boy, just as you are, but a boy who is only now learning the intricacies of the magical world. He did not grow up learning of the terrors that Lady Voldemort inflicted upon these isles. As Professor Hurst, Lady Voldemort was the first adult figure to ever show Harry true affection of any kind. I’m sure the offer to join her in her crusades and stand out above all others was immensely appealing to him. Can you not see why that would have been a tantalizing image for one in Harry’s position?”

And just like that, Charlus knew he had lost the argument. As much as he wished otherwise, he could see exactly why such an offer would be so tempting to Harry. And now, he came to a rather jarring revelation.

He had spent the last three months being an undeniable git — again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Originally, I had planned for the Quidditch tryouts to be in this chapter. As you may be able to guess, this one turned out to be longer than I had expected. The try out scene itself is also about 5k words, so I pushed it back to the first scene of next week’s chapter. That one will also be quite long, so I hope you enjoy these longer chapters. At this rate, taking the large number of pre-written chapters into account as well, It seems to be my new norm for year 2.**
> 
> **As I’ve said in the past, my mind magic system is based off of the one in PoS, though as those of you who have read both stories know, I have already made some significant changes. For instance, the actual theory on how Legilimency and Occlumency work. Also, in PoS, Occlumency shields are formed over time. In AoC, as Grace put it, there is no such thing as Occlumency shields, and that term is extremely misleading. Honestly, that trope never made sense to me, so I am happy to have subverted it.**
> 
> **Finally, bonus points to anybody who knows which muggle novel Dumbledore referenced, and which character he is speaking about. If you got the reference, let me know in the reviews.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 22nd, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST**
> 
> **Thank you this week to my lovely Discord editors Sesc and Haphne Initiate Son of Athena for the additional corrections on this chapter.**


	11. Consequences of Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**September 12, 1992  
The Quidditch Pitch  
3:26 PM** _

Harry stood among a large crowd of students who would be trying out for the seeker position this year. Part of him was surprised by the vast numbers, seeing as Slytherin House greatly prided itself on self-preservation, and the seeker was by far the riskiest position in the game. On the other hand, Harry was entirely unsurprised. As Calypso had so elegantly explained, Slytherin House was one founded on ambition, and the position of seeker was by far the most prestigious. 

Most of the players standing around Harry were ones he doubted would serve as much of a challenge, even with his limited experience. He was pretty sure that most of them had little to no flying ability. If Harry was even half as talented as Cassius had claimed, he would embarrass the majority without issue.

There were a few opponents who were intriguing. Among the many bodies around Harry, David Makehey stood stone still and ready. He had been the replacement seeker last year after Higgs had met his horrific end at the jaws of the three-headed monstrosity used to guard the Philosopher’s Stone. His showing in the following matches hadn’t exactly been exceptional, but he had not embarrassed himself, by any means. Harry thought that if nothing else, he had obviously been chosen for the role for a reason. Clearly, he had some talent for the position. Evidently, it was simply less than that of the starting seekers for each of the other three houses. 

To Harry’s intense amusement, Andrew Macnair was one of the students gathered for seeker tryouts. Harry had no idea as to his ability on a broom, but Macnair did not exactly have what Cassius called a “seeker’s build”. Harry sincerely hoped he embarrassed Macnair, simply to remind the bastard how terribly everything had blown up in his face the previous year.

The most interesting, by far, was Draco Malfoy. He stood directly beside Harry and there was an unmistakable air of tension between the two of them. Neither of them had spoken to the other since Malfoy’s failed attempt at ruining Harry near the end of their first year at Hogwarts. 

Well, that had been the case up until today, at least.

_**Twenty-five minutes earlier, in the Slytherin changing rooms…** _

All of the prospective hopefuls for Slytherin’s house team had been instructed to meet in the changing rooms at 3:00 PM sharp. Impressively, at least in Harry’s estimation, it appeared as if everyone had actually shown up on time. Just as the tension in the room grew hard to bear as all of the students set to try out continued to size themselves up against their competition, the door to the changing rooms banged open, and in strode the Slytherin Quidditch team, led by its new captain, Miles Bletchley. 

There had been some surprise when Bletchley was announced as captain. Cassius was older than him, as were both of the beaters, Derrick and Bole. But it had come down to a vote among the Slytherin players from the previous year, so nobody could exactly complain in regards to the appointment.

To Bletchley’s credit, he ignored everyone’s stares as he took to the center of the floor and gave a fairly rousing speech about the prospects of the team and the honour it was to join it. Afterwards, he laid out exactly how this tryout would be held. 

Each position would be tested one after another. They would start with beaters, followed by keepers, then seekers and finally, the chasers. At this, Harry could have groaned aloud. He was irrationally nervous about this whole thing, despite the rather stellar Cleansweep 10 in his hands. It wasn’t a Nimbus 2000, but it was probably the next best thing. Of course, the Nimbus 2001 was apparently out this year, according to Cassius, but none gathered in the room seemed to be clutching one of those. 

Harry, Calypso and Cassius had discussed why Harry should get onto the Slytherin team in great detail. One thing that had never come up was what would happen if he didn’t make the team at all. Perhaps Cassius was just that confident in Harry’s ability, but he unfortunately could not say the same of himself. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about this in the first place, but having to wait until very near the end of tryouts for his resolution was going to make it just that much worse. If that wasn’t bad enough, apparently, if you were eliminated from one position, you could opt to try out for a different one. This would inevitably mean that the field of potential seekers would be excessively vast. 

Finally, Bletchley finished his speech and told everybody to change into whatever they would be training in. Cassius had actually lent Harry a pair of training robes after Calypso had resized them to fit. In the stall next to Harry, Draco Malfoy pulled on his own set of robes, shooting not-so-covert glances in the Potter Heir’s general direction every few seconds.

“Something wrong, Malfoy?” Harry asked coolly, speaking to the blonde for the first time since the fiasco last May. 

Though the cubicle separated the two of them, Harry could still practically see the sneer on Malfoy’s face. “Just worried for you, Potter, that’s all.” Malfoy hissed in barely more than a whisper.

Harry would have crooked a brow, but Draco would have been unable to see it. “Just worry about yourself, Malfoy. It’s you who’s going to need the worry, not me.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Come off it, Potter. You never even touched a broom until last year. You’ve been in this world for barely that long. You’re barely even a wizard. I’ve been playing Quidditch five times longer than you’ve known about magic.”

Harry felt his pulse quicken at the reminder, but he ignored it. “Be careful, Malfoy.” Harry warned silkily. “The last time you talked this big of a game, both of us know exactly what happened.”

Malfoy flushed, though Harry could not tell. “This time, Potter, you won’t be able to do anything sneaky to get lucky! This time, it’s out in the open, man against man, wizard against wizard!”

“Does the hypocrisy leave an aftertaste?” Harry asked, borrowing one of his favourite quips frequently used by Daphne. “I’ll remind you, Malfoy, that it was you who had to ambush me with the help of older students. You have no bodyguards in the air, Malfoy. No gorillas, no older students. It’s just you and your talent against me and mine. May the best wizard win.”

_**Back in the present…** _

Harry chanced a glance to his left. Malfoy was looking at the ground, meeting the eyes of nobody as he took deep, steadying breaths. Either he really was as good as he claimed and this was some form of advanced preparation, or he was absolutely bricking it right about now. Personally, Harry suspected the latter. 

As for himself, he was certainly nervous. Unlike Malfoy, he was utilizing Occlumency to the best of his abilities. He couldn’t suppress the nerves, but by keeping a clear mind, it prevented those nervous thoughts from popping up in the first place. He thought it was a rather more effective way of staying calm and focused. It also had the added benefit of not instantly alerting everybody around as to how you were feeling.

While in this state, Harry also completely ignored Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Laine, Charlotte, Calypso and the Carrows, who were among the multitude of Slytherin students who had opted to venture out onto the grounds and watch the new hopefuls test their metal for what would hopefully manifest itself into a role on the team this upcoming year. 

Harry only realized just how lost in his Occlumency he really was when he noticed that the keepers were taking off. Technically, they weren’t really playing for a position on the team. Not a starting one, at least. Whoever won this round would be serving as the reserve keeper in case of injury. Usually, each team had a single reserve player. They would play either chaser, beater or sometimes even seeker if needed. Keeping was a rather different game to the other three though, and Bletchley, obviously being privy to the fact as a keeper himself, had elected to try out a reserve in his place, just in case.

It was also not uncommon to have a specific reserve for the seeker position for similar reasons. That had been the case last year. Montague had been a reserve player on the Slytherin team, but Makehey had been the reserve seeker, specifically.

By the end of that round of tryouts, most were left praying that Bletchley never got hurt. A seventh year Slytherin named Matthew Archer was slotted into the role, but it was very clear that he would be of no real help in a live game scenario. Finally, Bletchley gestured, and Harry, Malfoy and the other prospective seekers all stepped forward. 

“This is going to be one of the simpler rounds of tryouts.” Bletchley explained. “First, I’m going to have you lot fly some laps at top speed around the stadium. Ten or so, maybe. This isn’t really a test, as much as it’s a way to eliminate anybody who’s completely useless.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a few students pale and he had to withhold a smirk. Whether Cassius was right about his talents or not, this was one drill Harry would be having no trouble with whatsoever.

“After that,” Bletchley continued, “the team and I are going to set up a little obstacle course for you. As a seeker, maneuverability is extremely important. We’ll take the top eight times and then the final eight of you will match up in a bracket. The higher you finish, the more favourable your matchup in the first round. The final bracket will be one on ones to see who can win a best of three. Your goal will be to catch the snitch while the rest of us play a mock game. Be warned, the beaters will be targeting you lot specifically. If you win the time trial, you get to fly against the eighth fastest. Second against seventh, third against sixth, and fourth against fifth. Any questions?” 

Nobody raised their hand.

“Good,” Bletchley said, seeming to be satisfied, “now, up in the air, all of you!”

As expected, Harry breezed through the first round of the tryouts. To his slight surprise and great amusement, Bletchley had been right to start with something simple. There were several crashes, and even some who avoided outright disaster were very clearly inept in the air. By the end of the round, almost half the field had been eliminated and when Bletchley blew his whistle to gain the hopeful’s attention, it was a much smaller group that glided over towards where he and the other members of the Quidditch team had set up an obstacle course for them. 

It was a rather tight course. There was a long straight to begin, but then, the players would have to take a sharp turn that would have them flying back the way they had come. But this time, they would have to weave through cleverly placed obstacles, set up to force tight, sketchy turns. They would have to repeat this process back the other way before making another sharp turn and flying down the back straight back to the beginning. 

Harry figured that if what Cassius said about his maneuverability was true, he would breeze through this round with little issue. Truthfully, it was the actual catching of the golden snitch that he was worried about. Suddenly, he realized just how overconfident Cassius and Calypso must have been. They hadn’t even taken him out to try and catch a snitch!

Harry did not have much time to think about it, for he was one of the first ones called forward. In spite of this, by the end of the round, his time still held up as the fastest, and he would be flying against a tall, lanky fourth year boy in the first of the final rounds. Annoyingly, Malfoy had actually posted the second-fastest time coming out of qualifying, with Makehey at third. Less annoyingly, Macnair, who had regretfully not crashed his broom during the laps of the pitch, did not come anywhere close to advancing to the final set of rounds.

It did take Harry a while to get into the flow of the game once the first of the final rounds began. Fortunately, he picked up on it in good enough time, and after a near-miss by his opponent, he managed to nab the first snitch from right under his nose. The second served as much less of a challenge, and just like that, he would go onto the semi-finals. Malfoy and Makehey both advanced, too, but they would have to face one another. As the fastest qualifier, Harry was granted the easiest path to the finals. As a result, he disposed of his fifth year counterpart without much drama in the penultimate round. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Malfoy and Makehey put on a rather impressive duel. Makehey caught the first snitch quite quickly, which obviously had Draco flustered. Up to that point, he had yet to miss a snitch. This lapse in concentration nearly cost him several times, but in what Harry considered to be a rather lucky turn of events that saw the snitch veer away from Makehey and towards Malfoy, he ended up tying their battle at one snitch apiece. 

The final round was by far the most intense, but it was actually much shorter than the second. With a sigh, Harry watched along with the rest as Malfoy outmanoeuvred his counterpart and caught the snitch, setting up what Harry considered to be a rather poetic final battle for the position of seeker as he and Draco both mounted their brooms at center field, staring daggers at one another as they waited for Bletchley’s call to begin the mock game.

“This is it, Potter.” Malfoy hissed from the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to embarrass you in front of the whole house. This is your last chance to back out.”

Harry just smirked, feigning as much confidence as he could muster. “I’m getting flashbacks, Malfoy. It’s almost like you’ve said something like that before.” Faster than the blonde could retort, the whistle had blown and both of them kicked off, hard, shooting skyward as fast as their brooms would carry them.

As it turned out, Draco’s broom carried him upward faster than Harry’s. Draco was riding a Comet 260. While the Cleansweep was the far superior model in terms of handling, Draco would have a distinct advantage if it came down to a sprint finish. 

Immediately, Harry flew high, high above the game, trying to search the pitch for any speck of gold. In the past, he had wondered whether or not the vampire’s ritual had actually made his eyesight better than normal as opposed to simply fixing it. He was by now fairly sure, at least, that he had night vision superior to most people. He had a brief instance of time in the air in which he prayed that would somehow carry over to spotting the snitch.

As it turned out, neither seeker spotted anything for about fifteen minutes. Then, Harry saw it and threw caution to the wind as he went into a rather steep dive. Draco had seen it as well, and he was hot on Harry’s tail. In fact, he was gaining on Harry, but Harry would surely still get it first… Until the snitch took a turn towards Draco, who actually took the time to smirk at Harry while he turned his body into a better position to get the snitch. 

Out of instinct, Harry reached up and took hold of Draco’s broom handle. This not only negated Draco’s counter-steering and actually dragged him marginally off course, but it gave Harry, who was desperate not to go down one catch so early an opportunity. As Draco reached to bat Harry’s hands away, since nobody was paying them enough mind to call the foul, Harry pulled himself upwards with Draco’s broom, doing so just as he spurred on his own model. In a second, Harry had propelled himself forward and was now in front of Draco, in a perfect position to catch the snitch and an equally perfect one to block his opponent from doing likewise. 

An instant later, Harry held up the golden ball and the whistle blew, signifying the end of the opening round. Draco flew over to Bletchley without hesitation and began to protest rather loudly that Harry had cheated. In response, Bletchley just scowled and told him that if Harry had managed to cheat and get away with it, good for him; it was exactly what may serve as the difference between a win and a loss. If Draco wasn’t skilled enough to deal with that, it was his problem, not Bletchley’s.

Naturally, it was a mildly flustered Draco Malfoy that started off the next round. Fortunately for Harry, this made him less likely to catch the snitch. Unfortunately, Draco was a spiteful bastard, and Harry was soon bruised quite noticeably from the handful of collisions the blond boy had forced. By now, it was obvious that Draco played with a blocking, defensive style. Harry was sure there were tactics to negate said style, but none that he was aware of. He would just have to outfly Draco; it would have to be good enough.

As Harry pulled up short, just managing to avoid a collision, Draco dove and Harry cursed. By braking, he had completely stalled his momentum and allowed Draco to take an insurmountable lead in his dive towards what Harry noticed to be the golden snitch. He did follow after him but by that point, it was a formality. Several seconds later, the whistle blew once more, but this time it was to signify that Draco had made the catch. 

This meant that it was one all as the two of them lined up facing one another at center field.

“You’re finished, Potter.” Draco sneered. “No more underestimating you. I’ve got you all figured out.”

Harry chose not to respond. Instead, he was running various methods of how to turn Draco’s block first style against him through his own mind. By the time they were airborne once more, he did have the beginnings of a plan taking shape in his mind. The tricky part would be the timing. Harry was going to have to distract Draco until he saw the snitch. At that point, he would have to prevent Draco from seeing it and then set his plan into motion. It was probably a bit convoluted for a game of Quidditch, but as long as it worked, Harry doubted anybody would be pointing that fact out.

With this in mind, the round took a sudden turn that the blonde did not expect. Instead of using his maneuverability to try and dodge Draco, Harry was suddenly using it to be a pest. He would swoop in with a sharp elbow whenever none of the other team members were watching. He would swerve in front of Draco whenever the blonde made to make a move. He would even fly tight, fast circles around the boy to distract him. Needless to say, ten minutes into the deciding round, Draco was fuming. After Harry got in one too many sharp elbows, he lost his composure. 

Wheeling around in mid-air, Draco shot straight towards Harry like a javelin. This wasn’t exactly what Harry had planned, but if, for once in his life, he was exceedingly lucky, it could work. At the last second, Harry inverted, allowing Draco to fly above him, causing his hair to blow in the breeze he created. Then, Harry did an obvious double-take and dove. To Draco and all others watching, it appeared obvious that Harry had spotted the snitch. In actuality, Harry had done no such thing at all. He was simply trying to lead Draco into a trap and hope the snitch saw the moment after as an opportune time to present itself. 

Harry had already observed that Draco was a block first, defensively sound seeker. So naturally, he would tail Harry no matter where he went. Given the fact that Harry was on the more maneuverable broom, this was something he could easily use to his advantage. 

Something he was doing at that precise moment, as a matter of fact.

Harry dove straight into the center of the game, drawing Malfoy after him. The greater speed Malfoy could generate thanks to his specific broom model was allowing him to catch up. This was all fine for Harry, who tore through the opposing chaser line like a speeding bullet. Then, Harry signaled to his beater, Bole, to hit a bludger.

The odd thing was, he directed the boy to hit it straight at him. 

Initially, Bole hesitated. When Harry insistently and urgently continued his gestures, the older boy shrugged and gave the bludger a generous whack in Harry’s direction. 

Using his body the best he could, Harry tried to shield Draco’s field of view, preventing him from seeing the bludger coming as he did his best to mime the body language one might expect from a seeker who was about to catch the snitch. Judging by Draco’s constant stream of cursing behind him, Harry assumed that it was working. Then, at the last second, Harry leaned forward, as if to reach for the snitch and then did a barrel roll in the air, allowing the bludger to sail straight through the space his head had occupied not a second earlier.

And fly straight into the face of Draco Malfoy.

With a sickening crack, the boy’s nose fractured on impact and he was suddenly too busy rearing back to even notice that Harry had dove for the snitch. 

It appeared that, for once in his life, luck was on Harry’s side. And as hesitant as he had been to even try out, when he rose triumphantly into the air with the snitch held high and a victorious grin showing openly across his face, Harry had to admit that may have been the most fun he had ever had in all of his life.

_**An hour and a half later, back in the Slytherin changing rooms…** _

“Alright, everybody,” Bletchley said, gesturing for the gathered crowd to move in towards him, “gather round.” The crowd all did so, many of them holding their collective breath, clearly unsure as to where they stood. Some did not look bothered. They knew all too well that they had not performed well enough to make the team. Harry was the exception in the room. Currently, he was doing all he could to not grin like a child on Christmas morning. The elation had yet to wear off, and unlike those contesting for the positions of chaser and beater, he already knew that his place on the team had been secured.

“We’ve made our decision.” Bletchley said, and Harry’s eyes narrowed. The captain’s eyes had flicked between Malfoy and the three chasers standing near him. To the git’s credit, he had actually picked himself up after a well-cast healing charm from Bletchley and entered into the chaser drills. Granted, he had not been outstanding, but he had flown well. Certainly not as well as Cassius, Pucey or Montague, but well nonetheless.

“The beaters don’t change.” Bletchley started, eliciting groans from the prospective beaters gathered around the room. The still Slytherin beaters, Derrick and Bole, high fived one another with wide grins still on their faces. “Obviously,” Bletchley continued, “the keeper’s not changing either. Archer, you’re reserve. You’ll come to practices with the team, but you won’t see the pitch in-game this year unless something goes terribly wrong for me.” The seventh year nodded, obviously happy with the position, if not completely satisfied. 

“The biggest change is the seeker.” Bletchley said, and his rather impressed, somewhat surprised looking eyes fell on Harry. “Potter, you’re it. Starting seeker for Slytherin House; the youngest in years.” Harry bowed his head modestly, stepping forward to take his place among the rest of the team. The grin on Cassius’s face could only be described as euphoric. The two of them were separated by Bletchley, who stood in between, but Warrington gave Harry a thumbs up, which he returned with a smile.

“The final change,” Bletchley said, surprising everybody in the room, “is that we have a new chaser.” Mumbling rumbled throughout the room at that proclamation. Montague, Cassius and Pucey had very obviously outflown the rest. “Montague,” Bletchley said, “you’ve played well for Slytherin and I’m sorry to say this, but you’re keeping your reserve spot on the team.”

The look on Montague’s face was positively terrifying. It was equal parts stricken and vengeful. 

“The new starting chaser in his place,” Bletchley announced, “is Draco Malfoy.”

Immediately, the room was in a proverbial uproar. It took several blasts from the wands of Cassius, Derrick and Bole to silence the crowd. “My decision is final!” Bletchley declared. “I’ve been made captain for a reason. I think I know how to decide who fits best on a team. To the rest of you, thanks for coming out and we hope to see you all next year.” As he said this, he blatantly contradicted his words by glaring forcefully at all of them. “And if anything about who did and didn’t make the team leaks to the other houses, I’ll have all of your heads hung on my wall.” 

Several minutes later, after the dejected would-be members of the team had left, Montague rounded on Bletchley. “What the fuck, Bletchley!” he cursed. “Do you honestly think the little shit is better than me? I outflew him in every drill! That spot should be mine! I demand a retrial; a fair one!”

To Bletchley’s credit, he did not give the larger boy an inch. “Did you not hear me, Montague? My decision’s final. If you’re so hung up about it, quit the team altogether. I have no problem bringing back Makehey as a reserve.” Montague scowled and stormed from the room. Harry noticed that he had not actually declared any intention to leave the team, but his message was clear.

“A bit touchy, isn’t he?” Malfoy asked in a terribly superior voice.

“I don’t want to hear it, Malfoy.” Bletchley snapped, and Draco suddenly looked very taken aback, if not indignant. “He was right, you know. He outflew you in every damn drill, and most of them weren’t that close. The only reason you’re on the team is because Flint was nice enough to tell me about your father’s promise of new brooms if you made it. I wasn’t going to give you seeker if you didn’t earn it, since that’s way too damn important. But by Merlin, Cassius and Adrian will carry you through the games if it means we get those damn brooms.”

Draco was blushing now, obviously outraged but obviously not willing to say anything that might make Bletchley go back on his decision.

“Wait a minute.” Cassius asked with narrowed eyes. “Brooms?”

“Nimbus 2001s.” Draco said importantly, clearly seeing the opportunity to get back some of his shine as he managed to smile broadly in spite of the negative events of the day. “One for each of us!”

_**September 14, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
7:35 PM** _

To the relief of both Laine and Charlotte, Ginny was fairly punctual for their arranged meeting. Granted, she was a few minutes later than the agreed time of 7:30, but not enough for the other two to be justifiably upset. Charlotte doubted she had been taught much about punctuality at home. 

She had nothing in particular against the Weasley family, but she had seen the way they always seemed to arrive at King’s Cross station with mere minutes to spare before the departing of the Hogwarts Express. Upon Ginny’s arrival in Slytherin, Charlotte had also written home about the Weasley family. In response, she had been sent a copy of their file. Many high class, overtly wealthy pureblood families had “files” made up of known information and patterns for people and families. In the file, it talked about how Arthur Weasley, Ginny’s father, was a fairly reliable member of the Ministry’s Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division. It also cited, however, that the man was not known for his abilities in regards to organization. 

All of that was what prompted Charlotte’s first words, harsh as they were. She wasn’t particularly bothered by Ginny being a few minutes late, but she knew plenty who would be. Better to drill the message in early than leave the habit out to fester.

“First lesson,” she said, “punctuality. Be on time, Weasley. Always be on time if you’re not the more powerful party in the meeting. If you can be early without making yourself look needy or desperate, then even do that. When dealing with serious people or problems, being late is hardly how you want to start off.”  
Ginny flushed and looked as if she might bite back at Charlotte, but she faltered. Charlotte smiled. “See? You’re learning already. That temper doesn’t get you anywhere in Slytherin. Not unless it’s used correctly, of course.”

“Used correctly?” Ginny asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Most things can be used, Weasley. It’s just finding out how to use them that’s usually the hard part.”

Ginny looked mildly affronted, but clearly had no idea how to respond in a suitable manner. Charlotte and Laine actually exchanged a smile. She was at least trying to use her head. “Your trunk.” Charlotte told her, reaching into a pocket of her robes and taking out the miniature trunk, holding it out to Ginny. “Just tap it with your wand later and it will resize itself. Right now, the password is Slytherin, but I’d change it to something harder to guess if I were you.”

Ginny seemed to hesitate. “What’s the catch?” she asked suspiciously.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “How about you listen to what we have to say and as long as you at least try to put it to use, we’ll call it even.” Ginny seemed suspicious but slowly, she reached out and removed the miniature trunk from the palm of Charlotte’s hand, placing it into a pocket of her robes.

“Um… thanks.” she said, looking down. Charlotte had picked up on this already, but the Weasley’s well-documented financial struggles were clearly one thing that Ginny was not at all comfortable talking about. She found herself forcefully resisting the urge to Legilimize the youngest Weasley. It would certainly make this conversation much, much easier. But even without actively doing so, she would naturally pick up on her mood shifts and emotions. It was a useful perk of being a Natural Legilimens.

“Don’t mention it.” Charlotte said, glancing at Laine to start this conversation. Ginny seemed to be less wary of Laine than she was of her. 

“Right,” Laine started, “so there are some things that anyone in Slytherin needs to know if they want to avoid getting eaten alive before all is said and done.” Charlotte could sense the anxiety rising in Ginny and she tried to assure her with a smile. It seemed to work marginally. “The number one thing is house unity.” Laine said. “When we said that last week, you sounded confused. Do you have any idea what we mean?” 

Ginny shook her head.

“Slytherin doesn’t have the greatest reputation.” Charlotte jumped in. “I’m sure you know that better than most people.” Ginny winced almost imperceptibly at that comment. Laine shot Charlotte a subtle glare for the off-handed comment, but Charlotte shrugged. What was the old adage? Treat others how you wanted to be treated? Charlotte would rather people be upfront with her if they were letting her in on facets that could make her life exponentially less difficult for the next seven years. 

“Because of that,” Charlotte pressed on, “we get treated miserably by a lot of the school. I’m sure you know how Gryffindors treat us, but they’re not the only ones. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw usually stay out of it, but if they have to choose, at least the Hufflepuffs will always pick against Slytherin. Ravenclaw can sometimes side with us, but that’s rare. Since we have all three of the other houses against us, and some of the staff, who are apparently pretty happy to hand out Slytherin detentions, we work on a house unity system. Basically, no matter what you think of the people in Slytherin, outside the dungeons we’re all best friends. In public, we always support each other, no matter what.”

“So we’re not allowed to argue?” Ginny asked, incredulously. “Ever? We just… have to get along with everyone?”

“Merlin, no.” Laine said with a laugh. “You just can’t be seen arguing by the other houses. In the common room — go nuts. If it’s midday and none of us are in the dorms — go nuts, just don’t keep us up with it at night.”

Ginny nodded slowly. “That… actually makes a lot of sense, once you think of it.”

“It wouldn’t be in play if it didn’t.” Laine said with a small smile. “Whatever you think of Slytherin, it’s a logical house, if nothing else.”

‘For the most part.’ Charlotte added internally before jumping back into the verbal discussion. “Next rule,” she said, “etiquette and customs.” she paused. “I… don’t exactly know how to say this without being offensive, so please don’t take this personally. But, your family has never really been one for following customs or etiquette.”

“My parents always said it had no use.” Ginny said, sounding more intrigued than offended.

“In your social circles, probably not.” Laine said. “Your family’s circles, I mean.” she specified. “But… when you deal with old purebloods, which is kind of just naturally going to happen in Slytherin, it’s a big deal. Not introducing yourself right can be a major issue for some families. As much as your family might not like it, a lot of those families are the ones that run the magical world. So even when you’re out of Hogwarts, if you want to make it far in the Ministry, or any other career, really, it’s useful to know.”

Ginny flushed. “If-if I admit something to you two, do you… do you promise not to laugh? Or make fun of me for it? Or go running off to gossip?”

“You don’t know most of the etiquette.” Charlotte said, already knowing what was coming next. She had not actually tried to read Ginny’s thoughts, but she had practically been screaming them out loud. Even if she hadn’t, her body language very well may have given her away.

“But yes,” Laine interjected hurriedly, “we promise we won’t go and spread it around, or make fun of you for it. It’s not your fault that your family… doesn’t follow the traditions.” Charlotte thought Laine may have been about to say something very different, but she applauded her friend on the save.

Ginny looked a bit apprehensive. “So, it’s… really important that I learn all of that stuff?”

“Extremely.” Laine affirmed.

Ginny sighed. “How would I go about doing that? Are there books in the library?”

the two blondes exchanged looks. “Maybe,” Laine said, “but they might not be the best.” Charlotte knew where this was going already. If the Weasleys had such books, which she was sure they probably did, they would not be sending them to Ginny without some encouragement that she was unwilling to provide. Additionally, her family, and by extension, herself, was in no position to go out and buy books on etiquette.

“My family has a very good book.” Charlotte put in, sparing Ginny from making that embarrassing admission. Obviously, the smaller girl appreciated it, because she actually smiled gratefully, if briefly. “It wasn’t all that long ago we migrated to Britain. My grandfather had to learn all of the etiquette, so he made sure that the material he got was the best. I’m sure I could convince my parents to send me the book, as long as you promise to be extremely careful with it.”

Ginny nodded swiftly, looking once more abashed at how easily Charlotte could lend her something that her family couldn’t or wouldn’t provide.

“Well then,” Charlotte said, “that’s almost it for the major stuff. After that, we just need to go over some of the… smaller things you might have missed.” She was referring to things like the seating arrangements, hierarchy and other such things.

“But one more major thing to go over.” she said, looking intensely down her nose at the red-head in front of her. “From now on, speak and act with some confidence, will you?” When Ginny looked confused, Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You’re from one of the biggest families of Gryffindors we have in the country, I know that courage is there. It’s like what I said the other night about making yourself a target. If you act all scared and small, you’re going to be a target. Act with confidence and people will leave you alone, for the most part.” Charlotte smiled thinly. “It might even help you make some new friends, who knows?”

Tentatively, Ginny smiled back at her, and Charlotte noticed that her posture straightened and her chin tilted up, if marginally.

If nothing else, it was progress.

Some time later, when Ginny left the room, Laine turned curiously towards Charlotte. “What is it you see in her, exactly?”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Laine sniffed. “Sure you don’t, Missus I’m so good at reading people.” Charlotte frowned but Laine did not relent. “You’re really going out of your way to help her. Suggesting all that in the first place, buying her a trunk, offering to send her what’s probably an ancient book on etiquette. I just don’t see what’s in it for you.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “I wasn’t lying, you know? This small and shy act is nothing more than that — an act. She’s confused and was put into a situation she wasn’t anywhere near prepared for.”

Laine sniffed again, amused this time. “Clearly.”

“Yes, yes,” Charlotte said with a wave of her hand, “but like I said, it’s an act. As you said,” she continued, putting on the most smug air of self-superiorityshe could muster, “I am excellent at reading people. I can tell you one thing. I actually think I might like the real Ginny Weasley. If nothing else, she has tons of potential.”

_**September 17, 1992  
Severus Snape’s Office  
7:43 PM** _

It was after dinner on Thursday that Harry and Cassius walked together down to Snape’s office. They had, along with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, received notes that day from Snape ordering them all to his office at a quarter to eight that night. None of them knew exactly what it was about, but Harry had a hunch, one he had not yet shared with his older friend for the simple fact that he could tell the suspense was getting to Cassius and Harry found the fact rather amusing.

Just in the nick of time, the two of them knocked on Snape’s door and were admitted entrance. All of the other players were already present. Even Montague, though he still looked quite sour to be anywhere near Miles Bletchley, let alone Draco Malfoy. 

“This is all of you?” Snape asked sharply. When they all nodded, he did likewise, quickly waving his wand and summoning seven long, fancily wrapped packages that actually elicited gasps from several of the team members. For his part, Harry did manage not to gasp, though he would be lying if his eyes did not hungrily follow each package until one found its way into his hands.

“These are a most generous donation from Lord Lucius Malfoy.” Snape informed them, and Harry could practically see Draco puff out his chest with a deluded sense of self-importance. “He has most graciously purchased each of you the very best tool that I hope you will all competently wield this year. Last season was quite an embarrassment, one that I do not wish to see repeated after so many years of success.” 

All of the players nodded grimly, astutely aware of exactly how spiteful their Head of House could be. “To assure that you all are well accustomed to these new tools by the time the first match of the season draws near, I have granted you access to the pitch on the early mornings of Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, starting this weekend. It would be… unfortunate if we conceded our advantage by allowing the other houses to realize we had one at all. Potter!” Snape suddenly exclaimed, rounding on Harry. “Why exactly have I chosen such early hours for you all to practice?”

“Because you want the brooms kept a secret, sir. If we practice so early that nobody else will see them, it will naturally be easier to keep that secret.”

Snape nodded curtly. “Precisely. See that you do not negate this advantage by flaunting them around like some overblown trophy. If, for some reason, they are discovered, find other ways to work the situation in your favour.” All of the Slytherins nodded. “Very well. You are dismissed. Potter, Malfoy, stay behind.” Harry exchanged a brief look with Cassius before the latter left him alone in the room with Malfoy and Snape. 

“I am well aware of the tension between the two of you.” Snape said silkily. “I expect that this tension will cause no problems in any way related to the Slytherin Quidditch team.” Both boys shook their heads to indicate it wouldn’t. “I will hold the both of you to that agreement rather… forcefully. I care not for what you do off of the pitch. I do not expect a friendship, but I expect a cohesive team that can return the plaque to my office that I have become so accustomed to seeing on my wall.” This time, both boys nodded. 

“Very well,” Snape said, “you are both dismissed.” Malfoy was halfway to the door by the time Harry even moved. Only when the former had left the room and Harry himself neared the door did Snape speak once more. 

“Potter.”

He turned, raising a single eyebrow in question.

Snape hesitated and when he spoke, he sounded very much like somebody who had just swallowed a particularly sour lemon. “Your father was… an admirable Quidditch player in his day. Your brother, as inept as he may be at most things, is also annoyingly competent on a broom. I expect that you will not only match them, Potter, but surpass both of them.”

Harry nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.” 

__**September 19, 1992**  
The Quidditch Pitch  
7:23 AM 

Harry had been quite nervous that Cassius may well not get out of bed at all for Slytherin’s first Quidditch practice of the year. The earliness of the hour was no problem for Harry. He was often out of the common room practicing magic or reading up on theory in the dungeon classroom long before they were scheduled to practice. Cassius, on the other hand, almost always slept in past 9:00 on weekends. Oftentimes, he struggled to make it to breakfast in time. 

The rare acceptions, like when Harry had coincidentally ran into him on the Quidditch pitch, often took place when he had issues sleeping. It did not happen often, but it was known to happen every now and again. This morning was not one of those. Apparently, it had taken a monumental effort from Cassius’s year and dormmates, Derrick and Bole, to wake him at all. In spite of that, as Harry and the rest of the team strode silently towards the Quidditch pitch, brand new Nimbus 2001s thrown casually over their shoulder, Cassius was thankfully among them.

As the team neared the pitch, it became apparent that something was off. It was too loud for this hour of the day. Then, as they drew nearer still, Harry cursed aloud, drawing curious looks from those around them. He really did wonder if that damn ritual had sharpened his eyes. “We’ve got company.” he said dryly, and a few seconds later, Draco too noticed the scarlet-clad figures streaking around the pitch. At this distance, they were little more than blurs, but still, they could not be mistaken. 

Only one house flew in crimson robes, after all. 

“I’ll have their heads for this!” Bletchley snarled. “Snape booked us the pitch! They’re not supposed to be here! And we’re about to lose the advantages of our brooms!”

“We could turn around.” Cassius suggested. “It doesn’t seem like they’ve noticed us yet, and we could keep the advantage.”

“No,” Draco said haughtily, “if they do see us walking away, we’ll never live it down.”

“He does have a point.” Derrick said grudgingly. “And who cares about the advantage? So what? They know we have the brooms. It doesn’t mean they can actually do anything about it.”

“We don’t lose an advantage at all.” Harry said quietly, though everybody still heard him. “We just switch out which advantage we have.”

“How so?” Cassius asked, obviously the most willing to hear the younger boy’s perspective on the matter.

“We lose the element of surprise, but we gain something else.” He looked pointedly at each of them in turn. “What would you think if your team, minus the seeker, was riding on a bunch of average brooms and your biggest rivals showed up carrying the best racing brooms that money can buy?”

“I’d be bricking it.” Derrick said, nodding along thoughtfully.

“Brilliant!” Cassius said, smirking. “They’ll fill their trousers when they see these. Especially since last year, we were handing them their arses before Gryffindor Potter got the snitch. Imagine what we’ll do to them this year on Nimbus 2001s!”

All of the players readily agreed, so the team continued its march towards the Quidditch stadium. Harry only saw two downsides to his plan. 

One, he would have to be in range of his brother again, which had not exactly been a pleasant experience since the conclusion of their first year. And two, he was really getting sick of that self-superior smile on Malfoy’s face anytime that the brooms were discussed. Did he really think himself so superior just by being conceived? What, because he existed, he was better? Because those before him just happened to have money? Harry allowed a small frown to edge onto his face. Cassius peered at him curiously, but Harry shook his head, indicating that it was nothing. He would never be fond of muggles, but the idea of blood supremacy was positively idiotic.

He did not have much more time to think on the matter. It was at that exact moment that the team of silver and green-clad figures stepped out onto the pitch. 

And it was approximately thirty seconds later when a rather outraged looking team of Gryffindors began hurtling down towards them. 

Wood was the first to land, followed by Charlus and the Weasley twins. Bletchley, Derrick, Bole and Cassius stepped forward, unknowingly casting Harry, Draco and Pucey in their shadow. Harry smirked; this could be a positively perfect moment to give his brother a rather nasty surprise if he had not yet noticed him.

“Flint-“ but then Wood trailed off. “Hang on! Bletchley? Where the hell is Flint?” At that moment, Harry’s pride at being a Slytherin was reaffirmed. It was a testament to the House at large that the secret of Flint’s resignation as Captain had not left the walls of the Slytherin common room.

“Haven’t you heard, Oli?” Bletchley asked, sounding affronted. “Blimey, I’d thought for sure somebody would’ve got the news to you. Flint’s off the team. I’m the Captain now.” Charlus actually snorted. “Something funny to you, Potter?”

“Kind of.” Charlus admitted. “A fourth year keeper who’s played what… two years? That’s the Slytherin Captain?” The Weasley twins too were smirking, though Wood looked deadly serious. 

“Who’s your new chaser, then?” one of the twins asked.

“That would be me, of course.” Draco drawled, stepping out from behind the lead four team members and out of the shadow cast by the stadium. Harry had to admit, it was a nice image. Draco’s braggadocious smirk was perfectly done, and the way the early morning sunlight sparkled off his platinum blonde hair only added to the hollier than thou image he was obviously going for.

Unfortunately, this did not quite have the desired effect on Charlus. He burst out laughing at once, which caused Malfoy to ruin the perfect, nearly ethereal image he’d set up by scowling annoyedly. “You’re the new chaser?” Charlus asked. “Oh, this is too rich! Is Slytherin actually that desperate for players?”

“If you want to talk about rich comments, Potter, how about the fact you’re accusing somebody of an easy ride when you were given your spot on the team because you’re The-Boy-Who-Got-Lucky and all that?”

Now, it was Charlus’s turn to scowl. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy glance back at him and suddenly, with a fair bit of surprise, Harry realized Malfoy was setting him up perfectly. 

Sometimes, he really did underestimate the power of house unity. 

“You must’ve hit your head, Malfoy.” Charlus snarked. “The reason I got on the team was because I embarrassed you, remember?”

“If you say so, Potter.” Draco responded. “I only wish I was the seeker. It would be so much fun to show you what would really happen in a fair match.”

Charlus scowled. “I bet you paid not to be seeker, Malfoy. What, afraid to play me?”

“Not at all.” Malfoy purred with a gleam in his eyes. “There just happened to be somebody… better suited to beat you.” And then, recognizing his cue, Harry too stepped out from behind the lead four players and into the sunlight, smiling as innocently at Charlus as he could. To his great amusement, Charlus looked as if he had just been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Good morning, little brother!” Harry said with mock cheerfulness, drawing snickers from several of the Slytherin players and a fit of sputtering from Charlus, who seemed completely unequipped to respond to the situation.

“Enough of the drama!” Wood snapped. “We’re here for Quidditch! We’ve got the pitch booked, so you lot can bugger off!”

“On the contrary, Oli,” Bletchley said, matching the levels of chipperness that Harry had exuded just moments earlier, “I think you’ll find it’s us who have the pitch booked.” With a flourish, Bletchley removed the note from Snape and handed it over to Wood with a shit-eating grin. 

When Wood read the note, his face flushed. “I, Professor Severus Snape,” he read aloud, “hereby grant the Slytherin Quidditch team full access to the pitch from 7:30-9:00 on every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings on account of a need to train their new talent and adjust to their new brooms.” Then, Wood looked up sharply. “New brooms?”

“Oh, you haven’t noticed.” Draco drawled, his smirk returning in full force. “Just a gift from my father, you know?” On cue, each of the Slytherins held their brand new Nimbus 2001s up to the sunlight, marveling at how the rays of sunshine seemed to dance across the polished golden lettering like some sort of ethereal glitter. 

The reaction from the gathered Gryffindors was priceless. Wood’s face paled at once. Charlus actually took a step back as his eyes practically bugged out of his head. For once, even the infamous Weasley twins were left speechless, as both of them stood, rooted to the spot like some horrifically lifelike statues. 

Things only got more interesting when the chasers landed. Initially, they tried to portray the same air of bravado that the rest of the team had carried just minutes earlier. Then, about ten seconds after landing, they took note of the prominently displayed broomsticks, and their reactions pretty much mirrored that of their companions with picture-perfect synchrony.

“If you can hold that pose for another two minutes, Terrors,” said Derrick with some amusement, “I’ll give you both a galleon.”

“If they hold out for ten,” Bletchley picked up, “I’ll give them five each. If they save up and sell those antiques of theirs, I reckon they might be able to afford one of our handles.” Most of the Slytherin Quidditch team laughed uproariously. Harry forced his lips upwards into a seemingly amused smile. He didn’t really laugh in front of people as it was, and personally, he had a hard time laughing at people for financial struggles after ten years of having absolutely nothing at his disposal.

“Charlus, what’s going on?” came a rather high, bossy voice as Charlus’s two best friends, Ron Weasley and the speaker, Hermione Granger, made their way onto the pitch. 

“Oh,” Ron said sourly, glaring at Harry and Draco, “it’s you twats.”

“Come to sucker punch me again, Weasley?” Harry quipped. “Or have you come to give me my turn? I’ll gladly cash in, if you don’t mind.”

Weasley snarled. “I’m not afraid of you, Potter.”

“Funny. Not something I’d say if I didn’t give the person a chance to defend themselves, but you do you, I guess. Oh and Weasley, for the record, I might let your sister have a go tonight in the common room. I kind of want to see if she hits harder than you. Blaise and I have ten galleons on it, actually.” Weasley flushed a shade of puce that Vernon would have been proud of as the Slytherin team howled with laughter. Of course, that had all been a lie by Harry, but he thought it a rather good quip for being put on the spot.

“Or,” Draco said after recovering from his hysteria, “have you come to admire our new brooms, Weasley?”

“New… brooms?” Then, he caught side of the labels and reacted almost the exact same way as his elder brothers.

“Nice, aren’t they?” Bole asked with a vicious grin. “Draco’s dad got ‘em for us. If you ask him nicely, maybe he’ll fix that shack of a house of yours. I’m sure it would cost him a lot less.” 

Against all logic, Ron looked as if he might leap at Bole, who was several years older than him and twice his size. Thankfully for Weasley, Granger took a firm grip on his arm and glowered at each of the Slytherin players in turn. Harry had to briefly resist the urge to Legilimize her again, just to prevent whatever tirade was to come. 

“At least none of the Gryffindor players had to buy their way onto the team.” she snarked. “They all got on because of their talent, and talent alone.”

This time, it was the Gryffindor’s turn to react with hysterics and Draco’s turn to flush crimson. Then, the next words out of his mouth went off like an atomic bomb.

“Shut your mouth, you filthy little mudblood!”

And just like that, all hell broke loose. 

Harry stiffened at the use of the word. It had always infuriated him for reasons he could not entirely articulate. He reckoned it had to do with a number of things. His own blood status, his mother’s, his distaste in regards to the propaganda put forth by blood purists and all the rest. His hesitation almost got him cursed though. Instantly, several members of the Gryffindor team had their wands in hand and Harry had to lunge to the side to avoid being cursed. Before the Slytherins could retaliate, the youngest present Weasley’s bellow drew the attention of all present.

“You’ll pay for that, Malfoy!” Then, hilariously, his wand, which was held comically together by what appeared to be spellotape, backfired, sending him toppling back and resulting in the amusing sight of Ron Weasley vomiting up slugs. This was too much for the Slytherin team, Harry included this time. All of them promptly burst into hysterics, and that was the end of the confrontation, as Weasley was led from the pitch by Granger and Charlus. Embarrassed and now without their seeker, the Gryffindors vacated the stadium, allowing the Slytherins free reign over it as they had always planned.

All in all, the morning had been quite successful.

_**Two hours later, in the Slytherin changing rooms…** _

Despite it being the first practice of the new school year and including two newcomers, one of whom was a complete novice by definition, the Slytherin practice that morning went exceedingly well. Harry figured that the sky-high mood that most of the players found themselves in likely contributed greatly to the practice. For Harry, it was a mixed bag. On one hand, it had been fun terrorizing the Gryffindors. On another, the fact that the word “mudblood” had drawn such a positive reaction from many of his teammates disgusted him. 

As a matter of fact, the only other member of the team who had not outright laughed had been Cassius.

It was with this in mind that Harry did everything in his power to assure that he was one of the last to leave the Slytherin changing rooms. Only when his ring informed him that only one other person was present in the changing room did he step out of his cubicle. Malfoy was out of his Quidditch robes and about halfway dressed. After tryouts, Harry had observed how long it took Malfoy to do anything. After that, he had assumed it would be a safe bet that the two of them might end up alone in the changing rooms together.

“Flipendo.”

Quick as a shot, Harry had drawn his wand. Malfoy, who had his back turned to Harry as he changed had never even seen him coming. The spell caught him in the back and threw him towards the wall. Luckily for the Malfoy Heir, he managed to invert partially in the air so that his head did not collide with the wall. Less fortunately, the rest of him still slammed into the wall, hard, and slumped to the floor in a gasping heap. 

To say that Harry had overpowered that spell would have been an understatement. Not only had he very clearly knocked the wind out of Malfoy, but he was also certain that he had at least bruised a few ribs.

Completely unbothered by the fact, Harry strode forward emotionlessly, his face blank as he quickly made his way over to Malfoy and knelt down, placing his knee on the blonde’s chest and his wand against the boy’s throat.

“I thought I made myself clear last year, Malfoy.” Harry hissed in little more than a whisper. “I thought when you woke up with boils all over your body you’d get the hint. Never. Say. That. Word in front of me!” To emphasize the point, Harry shoved his wand a bit harder against Malfoy’s throat. “I don’t care what your father taught you to believe, Malfoy. This whole blood supremacy crap is nothing more than that. 

“You call Granger a mudblood yet she beats you in every important area for a witch or wizard. You think you’re better than me but every time you’ve tried to prove it, I’ve handed you your ass on a silver platter, even when you got your older group of pureblood prats to help you.” Malfoy’s eyes were wide now, desperate even and there was more than a healthy dose of fear within them. 

“I am going to tell you this one more time, Draco.” Harry said dangerously. “I’m done making threats. The next time you go and spout off the word mudblood in front of me, I’ll make all of this look like kindness.”

Then, Harry stood, dusted off his robes and strode straight out the door, pausing only to retrieve his broomstick on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **These chapters keep turning out WAY LONGER than I expected. This one was actually 14k+, but I pushed quite a bit of it back to the next chapter.**
> 
> **I have finally put together a rather detailed timeline of events for the chapters I still need to write this year and I must say — year 2 is going to be way longer than I thought. To put into perspective, I’m somewhere just north of 100k words ahead in terms of what’s pre-written and I’m not even at Yule. Needless to say, I am not making changes to the pacing (though it does speed up in October) and I hope you’re all in it for the long haul.**
> 
> **But for those of you worried about pacing, it does pick up greatly in a few chapters from now.**
> 
> **Oh, and Dumbledore’s quote from the last chapter was a reference to the character Atticus Finch from Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Shoutout to all of you who picked up on that reference.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 29th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord editors who contributed with corrections this week:**
> 
> **Asmodeus Stahl, Dave R, HansC, Jcaeser, and rawmeat898**


	12. Plots, Ploys and Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**September 19, 1992  
The Grounds of Hogwarts  
10:49 AM** _

As the golden trio exited Hagrid’s hut and began to make their way back up towards the imposing form of Hogwarts castle, Charlus hoped rather intensely that Ron was not going to vomit more slugs. That entire fiasco with the Slytherins out on the Quidditch pitch had resulted in Ron ranting about the house of snakes at large. He was still rather pale and shaky, however, which worried Charlus a great deal. With the rate at which his friend was speaking in conjunction with his recent, rather disgusting fits of vomiting, Charlus was not going to be at all surprised if his best mate emptied the contents of his stomach all over him.

“Honestly,” Ron was saying, still clearly irate over the whole thing, “they think they’re so much better than us just because they have a bit of money! ‘Hey, look at me, I’m Draco Malfoy and my daddy is rich and famous! Oh, did I mention my blood’s been pure for a thousand years?’” Ron spat violently on the ground and Charlus nodded along.

“Bunch of gits,” he muttered, “the lot of them.”

“I’m sure they’re not all bad.” Hermione put in a bit weakly. “They can’t all be like Malfoy.”

Ron just gaped at her. “Hermione, he called you a mudblood!”

“Yes,” Hermione huffed, “and notice how I wasn’t defending him, Ronald. Honestly, Draco is immature, arrogant, rude and all of the rest, I’m just saying they’re surely not all like that.” She looked pointedly at both boys. “You both have family in Slytherin, after all.”

“Don’t remind me.” Ron muttered. For his part, Charlus figured that staying silent was probably his best course of action. In truth, he still wasn’t exactly sure what to think in regards to his brother. On one hand, he had undeniably been a bit of a git for the last number of months. On the other, Harry had just done a rather solid impression of an absolute twat out on the Quidditch pitch. Charlus knew he needed to approach his twin, but if that was going to be the reception he received each time he tried, he could be counted as wholly uninterested in the endeavour.

“Honestly,” Hermione persisted, “you’re being really immature and unfair.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Drop it, Hermione.”

“No! I will not drop it! Why do you have to go out of your way to try and make your sister’s life miserable just because she’s in Slytherin? Do you honestly think she’s just going to turn into some budding dark lady just because her tie is green instead of red?”

“They don’t exactly have a shining track record, do they?” Ron bit back, clearly irritable.

“You’re telling me there’s never been a Gryffindor who went bad?” Hermione challenged.

Ron just glared back at her. “Can you give me one?”

Hermione glanced between Ron and Charlus and the latter felt his stomach contract as he realized where her mind had gone.

“Sirius Black.” Charlus answered, his voice void of any real emotion.

Ron sputtered, clearly not having been prepared for that last revelation. “Wasn’t he her right hand during the war?” Hermione asked shyly.

“Yeah,” Charlus muttered darkly, “he was. Right wanker, that one. He was good friends with dad at school, apparently. Something must’ve changed, or maybe he just led dad on. He reckons he knows what started it, but he won’t tell me. But at the end of the war, he admitted to a whole list of crimes. Bragged about it in the courtroom, apparently.”

“He was sentenced to life in Azkaban, right?” Hermione asked nervously.

Charlus nodded curtly. “He was, yeah. Still there to this day.”

Hermione turned back to Ron. “See?” she asked rhetorically. “Gryffindors can go bad too. It’s not just Slytherins.”

Ron shrugged noncommittally as the three of them entered through the castle’s large front doors. They made it no further than halfway across the Entrance Hall when they were stopped by a stern voice behind them.

Professor McGonagall strode up to the trio, her mouth as thin as ever. That did not bode well for the three of them. “Potter, Weasley,” she said, “the detentions you were set to serve for your… arrival at Hogwarts are scheduled for tonight. Mister Weasley, you will meet Mr. Filch in the trophy room at 8:00 this evening. Mister Potter, you’ll meet Professor Lockhart at that same time in his office.”

Charlus pitied Ron. At the beginning of the school year, he’d have dreaded a detention with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Now, nearly three weeks into the new school year, Lockhart had proven himself to be far more than a charming smile. Charlus silently reflected that there were far, far worse ways that he could have been spending his detention.

_**That night, at the home of Rita Skeeter...** _

The lone entrance to the small apartment owned by the Daily Prophet’s most well-known reporter creaked open as a crack of light illuminated the otherwise pitch black apartment for several seconds until the door closed. Of course, this was no problem for the person entering the room and the owner of the apartment itself, Rita Skeeter. She could see just fine in any level of light thanks to the rather handy and slightly illegal night vision modifications that had been applied to her glasses. Still, it was pointless to keep the enchantment active when doing so was unnecessary so as she deactivated them, Skeeter waved her wand, causing several lamps around the room to light up and illuminate the place anew.

The apartment was situated right on the edge of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was still on the favourable side, but barely.

Rita had chosen this exact location for a very specific reason.

Many of the people who knew things that a reporter may find interesting often frequented the shadier side of the alleys. With that in mind, it was much easier for Rita to sneak into the darker alley and eavesdrop on conversations when her apartment was situated so close.

Especially when one considered that she could simply buzz out of the apartment window as a beetle, fly over a few walls and huzzah!

Beyond that, she had managed a fairly comfortable home as a result of its location. Due to its close proximity to Knockturn, there were certainly witches and wizards out there who would avoid the property outright. To Skeeter, this was ridiculous, but she was hardly complaining about the fact. After all, it meant that the price of the apartment was less than it realistically should have been. Which, in turn, had allowed her a rather large apartment with a fair amount of niceties. Rita would never go as far as to call it luxurious, but it was certainly comfortable.

Sighing in pleasure as she removed her shoes, Rita stepped further into the apartment and scanned the kitchen. There was a letter waiting for her on the countertop. Evidently, her owl must have dropped it off while she was at work. 

Rita eagerly swooped down upon the letter like a praying vulture and snatched it up at once. Her hopes were high that this would be an anonymous tip-off, or something of the sort. That was hardly out of the ordinary for her. Least of all when unscheduled letters showed up. In spite of her eagerness, she was still sure to cast a number of detection charms on the letter before she tore it open eagerly, eyes widening at the contents.

_Ms. Skeeter,  
I am a bit out of the loop when it comes to the who’s who of Magical Britain nowadays. After so many years away, such a thing is only natural, I suppose. After making some… inquiries, I’ve been told that you’re the person to come to in order to find out anything I need to know about the important people in the country. _

_I’m planning to dip my toes back into English waters at some point in the not-so-distant future, so I imagine you could be quite a useful person for me to know._

_I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of meeting at Summer Isles next Sunday evening? It would be nice to acquaint in person and discuss any business the two of us may be able to come to._

_Please write back swiftly. Summer Isles is quite the trip for me, so I do need to assure it’s planned in advance._

_The best of wishes,  
Daniel Shafiq_

_**An hour later, in Gilderoy Lockhart’s office...** _

Charlus had made a drastic miscalculation.

Well, he’d made many in his life, but the most recent one had been when he had actually vaguely anticipated his detention with Gilderoy Lockhart.

Despite the frankly disgusting facade Lockhart had put up prior to the first Defense class of the year, he had proven himself as Charlus’s favourite professor ever since. His classes were well structured and informative and he was an engaging teacher who seemed to know his subject in an entrancingly exquisite amount of detail. 

With all of that in mind, Charlus thought maybe he would be fortunate enough to learn something during his first ever detention at Hogwarts. Well, first detention barring Snape, but that was a different matter altogether. 

To his dismay, however, Charlus had vastly miscalculated.

When he’d entered Lockhart’s office, the man had barely looked up from the heaping stack of essays resting atop his desk. He had only paid Charlus enough attention to look up, gesture to a smaller desk set out against the far wall and instruct him to begin replying to Lockhart’s own fan mail. To say that Charlus had been incredulous would be the furthest thing from a hyperbole one could come up with. 

Even worse, it didn’t get better as he went. 

On the contrary, Charlus found himself cringing at a frankly ludicrous frequency. Every second letter seemed to gush on and on about Lockhart and his achievements. 

And those were the easy ones.

Every sixth or seventh letter gushed on and on about Lockhart’s perfect blonde hair and stunning white smile. That wasn’t even mentionioning the witch who’d described his eyes as a “magnetic pool of perfection that she wanted nothing more than to fall into”. Honestly, Charlus had come quite close to pulling a Ron from earlier that day and emptying the contents of his stomach.

But it just went on, and on, and on.

It was nearly midnight when Lockhart finally looked up from whatever he was working on now and glanced up at the clock. “That should do.” he decided, eliciting a groan of relief from Charlus, who immediately let the quill fall from his cramping hand. “Have you learned anything tonight, Mister Potter?”

Charlus blinked. The first response that came to mind was to mug off the sods writing Lockhart. Something like how magnetic his eyes were. Logically, Charlus realized that probably wasn’t his best course of action. It was with this in mind that he went for a slightly more diplomatic answer. “Uh… learned anything, sir?”

Lockhart sighed theatrically. “Charlus, Charlus, Charlus, life lessons can be learned from any number of things. I didn’t just have you draft fan mail responses to punish you. Nor did I do it because I’m too vain to answer the cries of my adoring public. What you were supposed to learn, Charlus, is that fame isn’t everything.”

Charlus frowned. “What exactly do you mean by that, sir?”

“Flying a car to Hogwarts? I know this is blunt, but you might as well have just written your desire for attention all over your robes. Fame is a fickle thing, Charlus. It can change people, especially at your age. You have a good heart, but I’m worried you’re too lost in your fame, or that you might find yourself in that position. You have potential. Don’t squander it over something as petty as publicity. Tonight’s exercise was supposed to show you exactly what fame gets you. If you didn’t notice, I’ll fill in the blanks. It’s really not all it’s chalked up to be.” When Lockhart could tell that Charlus was mulling his words over, he dismissed the second year Gryffindor with a grand gesture.

When Charlus had left the room, Lockhart heaved a deep, heavy sigh. He didn’t quite have a read on Charlus Potter, as of yet. He was beginning to see the picture though, and it was not one as grand nor as beautiful as he may have hoped for. If things did not change soon, it may be in his best interests to intervene. Perhaps he would wait it out another month. By Samhain, he should have an accurate assessment of the Boy-Who-Lived. By then, he should be able to plan his next set of moves accordingly.

After all, suspecting what he suspected about the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Gilderoy Lockhart was not foolish enough to believe that he had any longer than one year to work with. He had one year to see his goals succeed. It was time he began to make the best of it.

_**September 21, 1992  
The Library  
7:12 PM** _

Draco flopped down heavily in the seat across from Ares, drawing a scathing look from the librarian, Madam Pince. Ares looked up distractedly from her work, glancing across the table at her cousin. He wasn’t exactly looking his best. His hair was perfectly in place, like always, as were his robes. That was about the end of his ideally perfect persona, however, at least in regards to his outward appearance. His eyes were red and he looked as if he had barely slept. His skin seemed a bit paler than usual, too. It was hard for Ares to tell, as Draco was a rather pale boy at the best of times, but she was pretty sure her observation was on the mark.

“Draco, are you alright?” Pansy asked from beside him, turning her head to peer more closely at the blond boy beside her.

Draco just shrugged her off, which clearly did not sit well with the raven haired heiress. “Fine.” he said curtly, turning his attention to Benedict, who sat with Ares and the now three second year Slytherins. Pansy and Theodore had been doing their homework before Draco had arrived. Crabbe and Goyle were off Merlin only knew where, but it was hardly a surprise they hadn’t accompanied them to the library. The only thing that Ares found marginally surprising was the fact they weren’t with Draco. Usually, Draco didn’t seem to go anywhere alone without them.

It was certainly odd, but she shrugged it aside.

He appeared irritable today, so perhaps he had wanted some time alone.

As she thought this, something nudged at Ares’s mind. It was a revelation of sorts. When she focused on it, she realized that Draco hadn’t been looking right for a number of days. Granted, today was by far the worst in terms of his appearance. But he’d been right stuck up since Saturday. At first, Ares had suspected that perhaps his first practice with the Slytherin Quidditch team had not gone as smoothly as he might have hoped. The more Draco avoided questions on the subject, the more Ares began to doubt that initial observation.

“What are you working on, Ben?” Draco asked tiredly. Despite his obvious mood, he still made sure to ask as to the progress of the lone first year boy in the group. 

Draco had taken Benedict Cuffe under his wing ever since the sorting. Benedict was a very quiet boy. He was undoubtedly sharp but, after spending much of her time in the boy’s presence for the better part of three weeks, Ares still could not say with any degree of truthfulness that she knew a whole lot about him. He was the youngest son of four. His father was Barnabus Cuffe, editor of the _Daily Prophet,_ as well as a stakeholder in the company. His father called the shots in regards to the paper, from what Ares could tell. He was also born much later than the rest of his brothers. His youngest brother had graduated Hogwarts in 1984. Aside from that, there didn’t seem to be much to him, really.

Ares wondered what Uncle Lucius’s game was with him.

“I’m trying to work on Potions.” he said with a sigh. “Not having much luck though.”

“I can help with it, if you’d like.” Draco offered. “It’s probably my best subject.”

“You sure?” Ben asked, eyeing Draco speculatively. Obviously, Ares was not the only person at the table to have noticed Draco’s current mood.

“Positive.” Draco answered in spite of it. “I’m just a bit tired, is all. You can always come to me for help, Ben.”

Pansy and Benedict switched seats, placing Benedict beside Draco so they could more easily work together without interrupting the others. Theodore still had his head bent low over a book that Ares was fairly certain did not belong to the Hogwarts library. She suspected that it was also probably illegal, in some capacity, but she hardly cared. Theodore wasn’t the only one who had brought a collection of illegal tomes to Hogwarts, after all.

Before Ares could return to her own reading, Pansy was leaning towards her and whispering in a low voice. “He’s been a bit off lately, hasn’t he?”

Ares did not look at the other girl. She had known Pansy for a number of years, though they had never been particularly close. Of course, she had not been particularly close with anybody save Draco. She liked Pansy more than most, but she didn’t trust the older girl as far as she could throw her. Even now, as Pansy asked a seemingly innocuous question, there was a part of Ares that insistently whispered that it was a probe. It was simply Parkinson doing her best to assess the situation in order to further whatever she might be plotting.

“I’m sure he’s just tired.” Ares answered quietly. “It’s been an adjustment for me going from home life to Hogwarts. I’m sure Draco is just feeling the same way.”

“I wasn’t just talking about lately.” Pansy answered in the same, low tone of voice. “He’s been different for months now. It’s just been really obvious lately.” she paused. “Ever since the dragon incident, really.”

Ares tensed imperceptibly at that comment. She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened that night. She knew that Harry Potter had more of an involvement in it than the papers had indicated, but that was only through inferencing, really. Draco had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole situation. She was not at all surprised if he really had been acting differently since then.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Ares responded, the words sliding easily and effortlessly off of her tongue. “You can always ask him yourself if you’re worried.”

“Between the two of us, Black,” Pansy muttered in an even quieter whisper, “I wouldn’t be asking you if I hadn’t tried talking to him first. I’m just trying to get a grasp on the whole situation, that’s all.”

Instantly, Ares knew that Pansy Parkinson was not to be trusted, as her instincts had already indicated. She had the distinct impression that Pansy had just had some theory of hers confirmed. Ares was equally sure that this internal confirmation would lead to the loss of Pansy’s loyalty.

She marvelled at her mother’s teachings, sometimes. She found it remarkable how putting all of that together was second nature to her. It was as if it just slid into place with minimal effort put in on her part. 

Ares did not respond to Parkinson any further. Anything else she said would be absorbed and internalized, and she would give Parkinson no more information.

What she did do, however, was scribble down a note quickly and efficiently, sliding it quickly into Draco’s bag when she was sure that nobody was watching her.

_**September 22, 1992  
The Dungeons  
7:32 AM** _

Charlotte had been perturbed at how early Ginny Weasley had risen the Tuesday morning of their third week at Hogwarts. Normally, Charlotte would be less than bothered by the sleeping patterns of her dorm mates. Normally, she would be completely indifferent to most things done by her dorm mates, even. What made this morning different was that finally, after persistent pestering on the part of the youngest daughter of House Weitts, Charlotte finally had the book of etiquette on her person and was prepared to give it to Ginny.

Laine had asked Charlotte several times by now exactly what she saw in the youngest Weasley. Truthfully, Charlotte couldn’t quantify it, exactly. She was certain that there was something there. Whether Ginny Weasley was wearing a well-crafted mask or was simply an unexplored heap of potential, or some other solution Charlotte had not yet pondered. 

She doubted that Ginny’s entire persona was a facade, but she did think there was a certain degree of truth to the assumption. After all, Charlotte hadn’t been exaggerating her ability to read people, not even when she had bragged to Laine quite openly about it. In saying that, she was completely confident in saying that at least in part, Ginny Weasley was hiding something. More specifically, Charlotte was convinced that Ginny was hiding a part of herself. Whether it was done consciously or not, that was another topic of discussion altogether. 

Charlotte was convinced that the shy, drawn in girl she had seen thus far was not an accurate representation of Ginny Weasley and her inevitable hidden depths. 

Perhaps it was simply her natural reaction to being overwhelmed. If that was the case, Charlotte could understand why she had defaulted to that idea. It must have been truly jarring to be so certain your whole life you were going to be in Gryffindor, only to have the exact opposite happen on the fateful day you had waited for as long as you could remember.

In all honesty, Charlotte felt a certain degree of sympathy for Ginny.

That sympathy did not blind her to the fact that she was certainly a heap of unexplored potential. She had fire, even if she was rarely showing it. If that fire could be moderated and used only in the right moments, if that drive could be focused towards specific objectives instead of being allowed to roam chaotically, then she was sure Ginny Weasley could be something indeed.

The first step of discovering that untapped potential would be for Ginny to not get eaten alive in the pit of vipers that was Slytherin House. Frankly, if she didn’t know the necessary customs, that unfortunate event was not a possibility, but an inevitability. 

Ginny would never reach her potential if she was ruined too early.

This was Charlotte’s way of trying to assure that this exact thing did not happen.

That was what had Charlotte cursing the name of Ginny Weasley early that Tuesday morning. She was not a morning person, to put it lightly. Waking up earlier than normal to chase down the red-headed Slytherin first year was not an activity that would have been high on Charlotte’s to-do list… ever.

In spite of that, it was exactly what she was doing now as she followed Ginny out of the common room, lengthening her stride to catch up with the shorter girl. Ginny seemed to hear footsteps, for she glanced quickly over her shoulder to check who it was that was tailing her. 

When she saw Charlotte, the indecision was clearly imprinted upon her visage. It looked as if she was conflicted. Should she slow her pace and wait up for a girl who had treated her with a large amount of kindness? Or, should she quicken her stride and evade somebody who obviously intimidated her, at least marginally.

Luckily, that moment of indecision was long enough for Charlotte to capitalize on. As Ginny froze, Charlotte lengthened her stride further, coming up beside Ginny and slowing her pace to match that of her new companion. Now, she was only about a stride behind Ginny. “Relax, Weasley.” Charlotte said. “I’m not going to attack you. Merlin, what is it going to take for you to realize that? I’ve done nothing but help you so far.”

Ginny blushed and tried to hide it by looking down. Charlotte was not fooled, but she was at least polite enough to not draw attention to the fact. “Sorry,” Ginny muttered, “it’s just…”

“Just what?” Charlotte asked, legitimately intrigued. 

Ginny squirmed, clearly hesitant to answer the question. She looked from Charlotte, to the floor, back over her shoulder at Charlotte, who still trailed one pace behind her.

Then, her eyes widened almost comically, causing Charlotte to tense. Before she could do more than that, the smaller girl had thrown herself at her, knocking them both to the floor. Ordinarily, Charlotte would be livid. In fact, on any other occasion, Ginny Weasley would have just instantly risen to the top of her shit list. The thing that made this rare occasion an exception was the jet of angry red light that streaked past where Charlotte had been a moment earlier and slammed hard into Ginny’s face. 

At once, Ginny let out an agonized scream as boils began to furiously spread across her face. Quick as a shot, Charlotte was on her feet, sidestepping another curse as she swiftly drew her own wand. With a swish, a flick and a muttered incantation, a torch bracket flew from the wall. With a gesture, the flaming bracket hurled itself at the two boys who had been stalking her from behind. It missed, but it did make them sidestep into the path of Charlotte’s next volley of spells. The more impactful of them missed, but several jinxes did connect. Before she could do more, the two boys were fleeing, evidently not willing to stand against her in a fair fight after being caught off guard by her immediate reaction.

By then, it didn’t matter.

Charlotte knew exactly who the two of them were.

Brandon Harper and Derrick Mulciber. Two of the first year Slytherin boys. For a split second of indecision, Charlotte contemplated giving chase. She promptly decided against that course of action, swiftly noting the myriad of issues that could have arisen had that been her chosen course. 

Instead, she leaned over Ginny, trying to convince the other girl to remove her hands from her face. When she refused vehemently, Charlotte took hold of her thin wrists, prying her hands away from her face without too much effort. The sight made her wince. Weasley’s face was practically unrecognizable. Ginny shrank back, tried to scramble away from her, even. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley. Hold still for three seconds or I’ll bind you and give you an actual reason to be afraid of me!” To her surprise, Ginny actually complied. With a careful hand, Charlotte reversed the spells cast upon Ginny before hauling the other girl back to her feet. “One last charm.” Charlotte told her, applying a fairly mundane cosmetic charm that would remove the obvious signs that Ginny had been crying. Minutely, the red-head nodded in thanks. “Sorry for that, Weasley.”

Ginny blinked. “Sorry for what?”

“It was me they were after, not you. You just got in the way.” she paused. “Come to think of it, why did you take that curse for me, anyway?” 

Ginny looked back at her as if the question she had been asked was wholly and completely irrational. “You were being attacked from behind! I couldn’t let you take the curse!”

Charlotte had to clamp down hard on her emotions to stop a visible reaction. That was quite possibly the most idiotically Gryffindorish thing she had ever heard in all of her life. “Weasley, don’t take this the wrong way, but that might be the single most foolish thing anybody has ever said to me.”

“What-“

“Not that I’m not grateful, mind you. I… appreciate it, and all, but you’re going to need to curb some of that if you want to make it in Slytherin. Speaking of which,” Charlotte added, glancing quickly around them to ensure that the two of them were alone, “I did have a reason for chasing you down this early in the morning.” 

Discretely, Charlotte slid the rather ancient looking book on etiquette from her bag and held it out to Ginny, who took it with a stunning degree of caution. It looked as though she were handling something either more valuable than anything she’d ever touched, or something that had the potential to destroy half of Diagon Alley if mishandled. The unfortunate thing was that judging by the age of the book and what Charlotte knew of the Weasley family, the former may well have been true.

“You-you’re sure about this?” Ginny asked, still seemingly skeptical about Charlotte’s generosity. “You’re just… letting me borrow this?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Lesson two for the day about being in Slytherin. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you’re still too noble to take it, let’s just say you taking the curse for me was payment, alright? The only thing I ask is that you take very good care of it. I don’t even want to know what would happen to me if a page of that book was so much as crumpled.”

If possible, Ginny’s grip on the book became even more gentle. “I’ll take perfect care of it.” Ginny vowed. “I promise.”

_**That night, in an abandoned classroom...** _

Ares nearly jolted when the door to the room opened and Draco stepped inside, right on time. She had been there for the better part of ten minutes already and she’d spent most of that time completely spaced out, lost in thoughts she couldn’t even remember. When Draco entered, however, her focus returned with shockingly sufficient swiftness.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked, skipping all niceties as he took a seat heavily at one of the desks that had been pushed to the edge of the room Merlin only knew how long ago. Ares nodded minutely as she took a seat across from Draco and placed her hands on the table in front of her, fixing her dark, intense eyes on the blond boy sat across from her.

“What happened to you?” Ares asked, matching Draco’s promptness by cutting right to the point.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t avoid the question, Draco. Both of us know I’m smarter than that.”

“I have no idea-“

“Don’t lie.” Draco tensed, but he didn’t outright deny his cousin’s accusation. “You haven’t been yourself since you went for your first Quidditch practice. You’ve been a mess. You look like you’ve gotten about three hours of sleep a night and you’ve been in a terrible mood ever since. You can’t tell me that nothing’s happened. You’re moody, but not that moody.”

Draco seemed a bit flustered, clearly uncertain as to how he was to answer the question at hand. “I… it’s… he…”

“So something did happen then.” Ares said in a rather low voice, leaning forward and making direct eye contact with Draco, almost daring him to deny it. Ares might not have been a Legilimens, but she had been told before she had a rather piercing gaze.

Draco hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “Ok, ok!” He admitted, sounding anything but pleased to be admitting the fact. “I’m fed up with Potter, alright? Are you happy now?”

Ares felt an odd mix of curiosity, surprise and exasperation at Draco’s words. Where the curiosity came from, she wasn’t sure. She supposed it was only natural to be curious about the mysterious Potter Heir. “You are talking about the Slytherin one, right?” she asked for clarification. 

Sneering disdainfully, Malfoy nodded. “Yes, the Slytherin one. I couldn’t care any less about incompetent Potter. He’s an arrogant toe rag and a pest, but nothing more than that. Slytherin Potter has actually been the one making my life complicated for months now.”

Ares tilted her head to the side, examining Draco critically. “So he did have more to do with the dragon issue than the Prophet reported?”

Draco scowled; it was an ugly expression that did not fit well with his features. “Had more to do with it? The half blood masterminded the damn dragon issue!”

Ares felt the curiosity rise and now, she had no issue in realizing where it was coming from. Loathe as she or anyone else may have been to admit it, setting up something like that was wholly and undeniably impressive. 

“How’d he manage that?” Draco suddenly flushed again and was looking anywhere but at the girl in front of him. “Draco?” Ares asked, eyes narrowing as she leaned further forward.

“Why are you so interested?” Draco snapped irritably. Clearly, they had reached a point in this conversation that he was neither comfortable with, nor prepared to discuss.

Ares rolled her eyes. “Hmm… I’m not sure. Why would your cousin want to know? Why would I want to know about the only friend I’ve ever had?” Draco winced at that, actually looking pained for a fraction of a second but Ares did not relent. “Why would I want to know what is making that person miserable? Why would I want to know why they haven’t looked right since doing something they’ve been waiting to do for years? Has it ever crossed your mind that I’m just worried, Draco? Or, are you so obsessed with yourself now that you can’t even tell me the truth? So worried about everything that you’re afraid I’m going to be the one who betrays you?” Draco sat still and silent and Ares rose a delicate eyebrow. “I’m waiting, Draco.”

To Ares, it looked as if Draco was having a rather painful struggle with himself. She could only imagine the war of thoughts and emotions going on inside his mind at the moment. 

“You’ll tell nobody about this.” Draco said in a voice more serious and stern than Ares had ever heard. She nodded, but not before shooting him a look that rather explicitly implied that such a fact should have been obvious. 

“Potter and I had… issues last year. I have no idea what I did to upset the prat in the first place. I must’ve done something, because the tosser decided to set me up! When he set me up to get in a load of trouble, I spun it on him and stuck it on Davis. We… went back and forth for a while after that, which kind of led to the dragon. I couldn’t let the halfblood have the last laugh.”

“But it backfired.” Ares deadpanned.

Draco sneered. “Obviously.” Ares thought that if his voice was a bit deeper, he could have pulled off an excellent impersonation of Professor Snape. 

“So, when Parkinson said you haven’t been right since May, there may have been some truth to it?”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Pansy said this to you?” Ares nodded. “Pansy?” Again, a nod. Draco frowned, clearly having hoped for Ares to answer in the negative. “I… maybe? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I’m… not supposed to start trouble with Potter this year. But the wanker’s making it difficult! He attacked me like a common thug in the changing rooms after the first practice just because I called that know-it-all Granger a mudblood!”

Ares frowned as her brain began to work on overdrive. “I know almost nothing about Potter.” she admitted. “But for some reason, he doesn’t strike me as a blood traitor, if that’s where your mind is going. Use your head, Draco. Is it not obvious what he’s doing?”

Draco snarled. “Being a complete tosser?”

“Well, a bit of that, I guess. But I mean why he’s doing it. You don’t think he realizes you’re not supposed to start trouble with him? It would be pretty obvious if you went from trying to ruin him to ignoring him altogether. Maybe he’s not satisfied with your father having to pay a bit of gold. Maybe he was hoping for something more personal.” she shrugged. “I could be wrong. You would have to investigate more to figure out for sure, obviously.”

Draco suddenly looked pensive. “You… think he still has it out for me? That he’s trying to provoke me to get me in even more trouble?”

Ares shrugged. “It’s possible.”

Draco looked annoyed. “But I can’t do anything about it! As in, I’ve been told not to do anything about it! So, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

Ares shrugged. “Let it go, at least for now. That would be a good start. If it’s bothering you this much, you need to learn to ignore it. For one, if you don’t, Potter’s plan is actually going to work. Even if it doesn’t, this is going to drive you insane. Look at what it’s doing to you already, Draco. If you stop reacting, he’ll give it up.

“But… if it bothers you that much, you could always try and learn more about Potter. Last year, you just lashed out with something. If you find out what it is that would actually bother him, you might have better luck. Even if you don’t, you might figure out why he came after you in the first place.”

For the first time during their conversation, Draco took a very long pause in which he looked completely calm and measured. It was as if Ares’s statement had given him an entirely new outlook on the situation. “Don’t take this personally,” Draco said, “but you are the most terrifying eleven year old I have ever met.”

Ares stuck her chin up in the air as a defiant look flashed in her eyes. “That should’ve been obvious, Draco. I’m a Black, after all.”

_**September 23, 1992  
The Slytherin Changing Rooms  
8:11 PM** _

By now, the Slytherin team had finished their third practice of the Hogwarts season. Harry was more than happy to say that those three practices, along with the initial tryout, had been the most eventful things that had happened to him thus far in the year. It was a nice change of pace from last year and even in spite of the time he was grudgingly dedicating to Quidditch, he found himself enjoying the practices quite a bit. Mind you, the thing about being a seeker was that, for the most part, Harry was isolated from his teammates during games. As the rest of them were doing structured and controlled chaser, beater and keeper drills, Harry could often be found flying high above all of them, weaving through complex courses or searching out the ever-elusive golden snitch.

Slowly but surely, Harry felt as if he was getting a handle on the game. He had been reading Quidditch Through the Ages as of late, which was a book that, until recently, he’d never actually planned to touch. He’d never explicitly had anything against the sport, per se, but it had never been his cup of tea, either.

He just loved to fly and grudgingly had to admit the genius in the plan concocted by Cassius and Calypso.

Speaking of Cassius, it was he who Harry walked beside as they made their way back into the changing room before going their separate ways towards each of their lockers. Thankfully, each locker also had a dedicated shower, which was something Harry was in desperate need of at the moment. And he wasn’t the only one, either. The rest of the team seemed to have the same idea in mind. 

The lone exception was Montague.

Ever since he had lost his spot to Malfoy, the boy had been in a rather bad-tempered mood. Harry couldn’t exactly blame him for the fact, but he still thought it was about time the would-be chaser grew up. It wasn’t as if his life would be defined by not making a Hogwarts Quidditch team. Likely as a result of his bad mood, Montague had seemed to make it his mission to not only outfly Malfoy every chance he got, but to also spend as little time with the team off the pitch as possible. 

Harry suspected that this silent protest was actually rather counterproductive. Team chemistry was a major component of Quidditch, as Bletchley endlessly droned on and on about. By separating himself from the environment and being a general prat about the whole situation, Montague wasn’t exactly integrating himself effectively into the scheme in a way that would be likely to promote positive team chemistry.

But of course, Harry was sure he was overanalyzing things. He knew that he had been developing that habit, as of late. Such things were not surprising. Not after he had vowed to be more thoughtful in regards to his actions after the fiasco that had been the conclusion to his first year at Hogwarts. Perhaps Harry’s mind was now taking that moniker too far, but Harry would rather be paranoid than perpetually made a fool of.

After all, as one of the more personal tomes in the Speaker’s Den had said, Persistent, proper preparation perpetually prevents poor performance. 

Of course, manifesto may have been a more accurate summary of the book, but that was beside the point.

All of this was to say that Harry had to actively force himself to pay Montague no mind as he removed his robes and stepped into the shower. He sighed contentedly as the water hit his skin. 

One of his favourite things about the magical world, bar none, had to be the fact that the water always moderated itself to the user’s preferred temperature. Harry had been confused about that after initially diving into Occlumency. After all, it couldn’t possibly be Legilimency that the taps were using. But it wasn’t. The taps took note of the immediate physical response to a generically warm sprinkle of water. From there, the temperature would adjust accordingly after immediately analyzing said reaction.

All in all, rather ingenious, in Harry’s opinion.

Most unusually, the feeling of comfort and contentment lasted only a few, blissful seconds. In its place, Harry felt a rather persistent itchiness take hold of his entire body. He tried to move but suddenly felt his body stiff, rigid almost. From the other showers, Harry could hear his teammates cursing, evidently experiencing something similar. He wondered whether or not there had been a malfunction in the showers, of sorts. 

He heard it before he felt it.

One of the other members of the Slytherin team let out a scream from their shower. Whether it was one driven by pain or panic, Harry wasn’t sure. A moment later, he realized that either option was equally possible. 

He did not scream, but it was a near miss. Every bone in his body felt as if it was cracking and bending. His legs actually gave out and he found himself lying helplessly on his shower floor as the feeling grew worse and worse. After about a minute of this, the feeling only intensified. When he’d experienced the ritual more than a year ago now in Knockturn Alley, he’d likened the feeling to hundreds of small needles pricking all over his body. If that was true, this was hundreds of razor-sharp blades being dug into every orifice.

Harry could not think, he was too overwhelmed by pain. It was worse than his scar had been the year before, far worse in fact. At least that agony had been focused entirely on one part of his body. This was emanating from every fibre of him. The main similarity to his agony in the catacombs was the fact that as he lost consciousness, one of the last things he could hear was the catcophony of his teammate’s agonized screams.

What stood out as different, however, were the two voices Harry could also hear, muffled and faint as if they were standing outside. It sounded as if they were laughing, but as Harry’s final thought accurately summarized, by now, he had lost the ability to discern reality from fantasy.

_**September 25, 1992  
The Hospital Wing  
1:32 AM** _

Harry awoke with a small groan as he reached up to rub at his eyes. He felt incredibly stiff. Stiffer than he had ever felt in his life, even. Coming from somebody who had occupied a small broom cupboard for ten years, that was saying a lot. His arm felt as if it did not want to so much as move. He did manage to force it into compliance, but it was a struggle. He tried to sit up but again, it felt like a task.

“Careful.” said a familiar voice from beside him. For a split second, Harry tensed. The last person to say that to him in this room had been his brother. Minutes after that comment, he’d been sent back to Durzkaban and any relationship he’d formed with Charlus had been torn apart. The more rational part of his brain recognized that it was not Charlus who was speaking.

“Cassius?”

“Morning, Harry.” Cassius greeted in a whisper, glancing around the room. “Or night, I guess.”

“What time is it? What happened? What’s going on?”

“Slow down, Harry.” another voice said. It was considerably softer than Cassius’s and he glanced to that side of his bed, almost groaning aloud with the effort of such a small movement. 

“Calypso?”

She just nodded, offering a weak smile. “I’ve been here for quite awhile, actually. Hestia and Flora were here earlier. Your other friends were, too. They’re obviously off sleeping now.”

“But what-“

“Hold on,” Calypso told him, raising a hand to forestall his questions, “let me put up privacy wards.”

“My wand?” Harry asked, both wanting to add his own spells and feel the security of it in his hand again. Calypso summoned it to her and gently handed it to Harry. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. 

“Want help?” Calypso asked, clearly concerned.

Harry hesitated. His desire to sit up in a more comfortable position was warring with his desire not to be touched. In the end, he decided he would go mental if he had to lay in this position for any longer, so he nodded. Gently, Calypso helped ease Harry up into a sitting position against his now propped up pillows. At least now, his tension could be passed off as whatever the hell had happened to him.

“Whatever happened, is it gonna stop me from casting magic?” Calypso shook her head, so Harry flicked his wand. “Muffliato.”

The familiar, oddly comforting magic spread from Harry’s wand. He marvelled at the ironic oxymoron which was his most recent thought. The magic omitted by the Muffliato charm felt naturally oppressive, yet it was still one of the spells that comforted Harry the most. 

“How do you know that spell?” There was an edge to Calypso’s voice, one that Harry had never heard there before. Harry’s eyes narrowed; one of these days, he was really going to need to work out the origins of that damn spell.

“Better question, why does it matter? You’re not the first person to act surprised that I know the spell.”

Calypso hesitated. “Harry, that’s a… very obscure privacy spell.”

Harry just peered challengingly back at her. “How do you know of it, then?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, sorry.” 

Harry looked annoyed, but moved on quickly. “Fair enough, I guess. Anyway, what the hell happened? I realize I’m in the Hospital Wing now, but why? I just remember something happening in the shower.” he cringed. “It was painful — extremely painful.”

Cassius too was wincing. “Don’t remind me.” he muttered. “We were pranked, or something. Some bastards replaced the water with a potion.”

“The Terrors,” Calypso muttered, “I’ll bet you anything it was the Terrors. Only Gryffindors could be idiotic enough to overlook everything that could’ve gone wrong with that ‘prank.’”

“And for those of us who don’t know what happened?” Harry said carefully. “What exactly was the potion meant to do? Did it go wrong, or something?”

“Oh, no.” Cassius muttered darkly. “It went perfectly to plan, I’m sure. The fucking idiots just didn’t think of the logistics. Like… oh, I don’t know, the fact that growing scales could’ve fucking killed us?”

Harry’s jaw fell agape. “G-growing scales?”

“That’s how they found you.” Calypso informed him. Her voice was perhaps a bit softer than normal. “Montague forgot his bag in the changing room. When he went to go get it, he found all of you, passed out in your showers. Apparently, you were each in a pool of your own blood.”

“You remember the feeling in your bones?” Cassius asked and Harry tentatively nodded. “That was the scales being formed. And the feeling that every part of you was being stabbed by a knife? That was our scales pushing up through our skin.” 

Harry was not a squeamish person, but he found it remarkably challenging not to cringe at the images that had flowed to the forefront of his mind. “So, I’m assuming that’s why I can barely move right now?”

“Yup. Pomfrey had to vanish the scales, but she couldn’t do it without taking a hell of a lot of bones with them. We were all put under while our bones regrew themselves. You lot are all waking up right about now. Bletchley and I have each been up for a few hours. We realized something was up right away and tried to get out of the shower. We got about halfway, so the damage was mostly to our lower bodies. You lot had it worse because you didn’t react fast enough.”

“Do I even want to know how long I’ve been out?”

“It’s Friday morning.” Calypso told him gently. “The twenty-fifth of September.”

“Bastards!” Cassius snarled. “All those dumbass lions think they’re so brilliant, so clever. They don’t realize that for all the jokes they make about Junior Death Eaters and all this other bullshit, those two dickheads have done worse than most of Slytherin. We could’ve died! Literally fucking died!” 

“Have they been caught?”

“Of course not! They’re smart enough not to leave evidence. Since we all passed out, it’s not like we can give a testimony, is it?”

“I heard laughing.” Harry offered weakly.

“Yeah, Bletchley said he did too. That’s hardly proof though, is it?”

“I guess not.” Harry said with a sigh. He was going to have to look into the Weasley Twins. Thus far, he had paid them no mind, but if they were setting up pranks that could potentially be lethal and targeting Slytherins, extremely ill intent or not, they might have to slide quite near the top of Harry’s ever growing list of priorities.

_**Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor…** _

Lucius set down his last paper for the night with a sigh. He stretched back in his throne-like chair, intent on heading out of his study and up to bed. 

Before he left his study, however, Lucius slid the drawer of his desk open and removed his most recent correspondence that he considered to be of note.

_Lucius,  
I will be meeting with her this weekend at Summer Isles.  
I thank you for the mutually beneficial agreement. I hope it will work out well for both of us in the end._

_Pleasure doing business with you,  
Daniel Shafiq_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For the first time, I actually missed my Saturday upload date. Lightning struck a power line at about 8:00 AM on Saturday morning, and nobody in my area got power back until about midnight. So yeah, I’m really sorry about the inconvenience, but not a whole lot I could have done.**
> 
> **For those who do not remember, Daniel Shafiq ran unsuccessfully against Barty Crouch Sr. for the position of Minister for Magic in the 1982 Ministerial Elecction. He was the Conservatives’ representative, though he lost in resounding fashion. As for what he has been doing since, you will find out next chapter. It should be known by now that I don’t exactly forget about characters.**
> 
> **Also, Fred and George are not murderous psychopaths, for those who have not pieced that together yet. They are simply morally colour blind and rather impulsive. They are far too clever for their own good and don’t often think through the full repercussions of their actions. That will be a running theme as the story moves forward.**
> 
> **And slight spoiler here, but for those who are worried about it, there will not be a prank war or anything like it any time soon.**
> 
> **Finally, I know Harry appeared very little this chapter. The next two chapters focus quite a bit on subplots, and then Harry is brought more into the fold once more after that. Also, for those concerned about pacing, it does speed up. The end of year 2’s fifteenth chapter will be Samhain.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted on Saturday, September 5th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord editors for their contributions this week:**
> 
> **Asmodeus Stahl, bloodstainedsoldier, ccp, rawmeat898 and Sesc.**


	13. The Dead of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**September 25, 1992  
The Headmaster’s Office  
7:57 PM** _

As per usual, Charlus was admitted into Dumbledore’s office before he even had the chance to knock on the door. This time, he managed to get all the way to his seat before the venerable old man looked up, if only because the Headmaster himself seemed to be nose deep in a rather complex-looking pile of notes. After about a minute, Dumbledore looked up and gently moved his pile of papers to the side.

“My apologies, Charlus. I do love and cherish almost everything this illustrious job has to offer, but there are certainly rare components of it that I am not as fond of. The monotony of inevitable paperwork certainly falls into the latter category.”

“Uh… that’s alright, sir. You wanted to speak to me?”

“indeed, I did. To start with something potentially lighter, how are your friend Ronald and his family handling the… surprising result of their youngest sister’s sorting?”

Charlus hesitated. “Ron’s… a bit upset, I guess. He’s not pleased she was sorted into Slytherin and he kind of went off on her a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t seen them talk since. Ron, Hermione and I talked about it last weekend and he still wasn’t happy.”

Dumbledore scratched at his beard. “I did hear about their confrontation. It saddened me very deeply. Do try and remind Ronald of the things I reminded you of a year ago. The colour of one’s tie does not dictate who they are. It is our choices which define us, as well as the complex and intricate thinking that goes into each and every choice we make.”

Charlus just nodded, being somewhat accustomed to Dumbledore’s whimsical ways of speaking. “I’m not sure about the others,” he admitted. “The twins haven’t talked about it but I don’t think they’ve gone in on her either. I… don’t really talk to Percy, to be honest.”

“Such things are not a surprise to me. There is a significant age gap between yourselves, and the pair of you are quite different from one another. Do keep an eye on the situation for me, will you?” Charlus nodded again and Dumbledore steepled his fingers, obviously about to get to the true contents of the meeting. 

“Speaking of sibling relationships, I don’t suppose you are aware of what has happened to your own brother?”

Charlus frowned. “Harry?” He realized as soon as he asked the question how stupid it was. What other brother did he have? Dumbledore did not comment on his moment of idiocy. Instead, he just nodded benignly, prompting Charlus to continue. “I… uh, haven’t, no. I… haven’t talked to him at all, actually.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I suppose it is better than being openly antagonistic. Allow me to enlighten you, in that case. Two nights ago, after practice, the entire Slytherin Quidditch team were the victims of an extremely ill-thought and childish prank that could have very well had disastrous consequences.”

Charlus felt his heart quicken. “What happened, sir?”

“It appears that the water in the Slytherin showers was replaced with a potion that caused all seven of them to grow rather painful scales.” Dumbledore stare pierced Charlus. “To elucidate further, scales that grew alongside bone and then forcefully pushed their way up through each player’s skin.” 

Charlus actually paled as the impulse to vomit briefly arose. That was a terrifying image that he did not need to contemplate. “Are-are they-“

“Oh, they are perfectly alright, though the road to recovery was a painful one. In order to remove the rather inexpertly grown scales, Madam Pomfrey had to vanish a vast number of bones. Of course, those bones all needed to be regrown. Regrowing a bone is unpleasant. Regrowing a vast number of them is painful enough that our esteemed matron thought it best that none of them wake at any time during the process. They were all awake by this morning, though they are not being discharged until after breakfast tomorrow.”

Charlus was even paler now. He was a bit conflicted in regards to his brother, even if he could admit that he himself had been a git for months now. Still, nobody should have to go through that. “Did you catch who did it, sir?”

“Unfortunately, we have not. That is actually why I wished to speak with you, Charlus. I had hoped that you might know, or at least, perhaps suspect who the culprits might have been? The offence was… quite heinous. It can not go unpunished. Even if I thought it could, the Board of Governors is pushing the staff quite hard to investigate further. Lucius Malfoy is, after all, the Head of the Board. I will be announcing a formal investigation at breakfast tomorrow, as well as urging students with any information to come forward. Before I do so, however, I thought I might endeavour to ask if you have any insight on the matter?”

The Weasley twins were the first names that rose to the surface of Charlus’s thoughts. But surely Fred and George would never do anything that malicious? They were pranksters and could be gits from time to time, but they weren’t that bad. If they had somehow been behind it, surely the prank had been meant as harmless. Perhaps it had gone terribly wrong, in one way or another.

That was the only way Charlus could even imagine Fred and George being responsible.

But even if they somehow were, it wouldn’t be fair for them to be expelled for a prank gone wrong. For Charlus had no doubt that whoever had been behind this prank would likely be expelled for such an offence

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, coming to the decision to keep all of that to himself. “I have no idea.”

As Dumbledore politely dismissed him, Charlus made one promise to himself on the way out of the Headmaster's office.

He was going to look into this.

_**September 26, 1992  
Severus Snape’s Office  
9:13 PM** _

“What can I do for you this evening, Miss Parkinson?”

Snape spoke in his typical, silky tones, raising one, greasy eyebrow in question as he stared curiously upon the Parkinson Heiress. It was rare that Snape actually had students come to him directly. Part of that was his reputation, he was sure. Though it was true he favoured Slytherin House rather blatantly, he was also well-known for his brutal honesty with those of his house while outside his classroom. 

“Well, sir, I think maybe I should’ve gone to a Prefect about this. I’m not actually sure it’s worth your time, but I don’t know any of the Prefects very well, you see? I… didn’t want to bother them. I didn’t want them to get upset, especially because they were studying and-”

“Miss Parkinson, you will cease the telling of this unbefitting sob story at once.” Immediately, Pansy sobered, realizing that her Head of House would not be deceived so easily. “Make your point promptly, Miss Parkinson. I do not have the time for misplayed mind games or poorly perpetuated attempts at ascertaining my favour through some tasteless sob story.”

Pansy nodded. “We have a Transfiguration assignment due by the end of this week, Professor. I’ve tried everything and I just don’t get it! I really could have gone to a Prefect, but I was afraid they would just tell me to shove off. It’s never been my best subject but my parents expect better grades from me this year. I was wondering if you could set me up with a tutor, or something? Maybe a study partner, if not. It could even just be somebody good in my year. I don’t need free answers, just a bit of help.”

Snape studied her for a long number of moments. “I am well aware that this is an attempt to further a personal scheme, Miss Parkinson,” Snape said bluntly and at once, Pansy deflated. “However,” Snape continued silkily, “your Transfiguration grades truly are poor, and it likely would be in your best interests if you were… guided in the right direction. I shall arrange a meeting for you on Tuesday evening. Be in my classroom at 8:00. Do not be late.”

Pansy debated whether or not she should specify her desire if Snape was going to play into it anyways, but at this point, she thought it best not to test her luck. Hopefully, he had correctly deduced her true intent, or at least part of it and not just that it was a scheme of some sort. “Thank you, Professor,” she said gratefully. “I’ll… make it a point to work on my grade in Transfiguration.”

“Dismissed.”

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom...** _

Harry winced as Hestia’s well-placed cutting curse just barely made impact, opening a fairly deep cut on his cheek. He had tried to lean out of the way but she’d changed directions faster than he’d anticipated. Knowing that a follow-up spell was to come, Harry threw himself to the floor on instinct, not taking the time to think more on the now thickly bleeding wound she had opened. Sure enough, three spells sailed through the space he had just occupied in quick succession. In an instant, Harry was back on his feet. 

He batted aside her attempt to disarm him and countered with a quick, fluid spell chain of his own. Chaining spells together was something he had always been good at. Probably because Voldemort had been a stickler for the tight precision of wand movements. It was this precision that allowed him to fire off his own disarming spell, followed by a full-body-bind, a stunner and a cutting curse in quick succession. Hestia did an admirable job of avoiding the first three but the cutting curse sliced a long, jagged cut on her arm, which was exposed by the top she had chosen.

Despite the brief look of pain on his older friend’s face, Harry could not help but feel excitement rise within him. He had duelled Hestia a number of times over the months. Out of the four of them, she was definitely the second best duellist after Calypso, even though the gap between first and second was very wide. This was the first time Harry had actually wounded her. In his estimation, it was an achievement worth celebrating.

Unfortunately, her next move was to conjure a flock of ravens which bore down on Harry with razor-sharp beaks and talons exposed. Hastily, Harry conjured a Protego shield to grant himself more time as he tried to conjure up the focus to make an attempt at vanishing the birds. On Grace’s recommendation, he had worked diligently on the vanishing spell, but it was not coming easily to him. He had yet to manage it and he could already tell this would not be the time.

Luckily, Hestia was not cruel enough to watch him get his face torn apart by the birds.

At the last second, she sent them off course, but it was too late for Harry to take advantage of her mercy.

The birds had been used to obscure his vision. Which was how Hestia managed to sneak in a well-placed blasting curse that tore through his shield. Thankfully, the shield did absorb the curse itself, but the residual impact still sent Harry tumbling backwards, his wand skidding out of his hand. Seconds later, Hestia had summoned his wand, and the duel had ended.

Annoyed, Harry got to his feet and accepted his wand, handle first. “You’re improving,” Hestia commended. It was probably the closest thing she would ever give to a blunt compliment. “You’re improving incredibly fast, actually. It’ll be… interesting to see how these duels go in a year from now.” 

Harry nodded, thanking her quietly before healing the cut on his cheek. It was a bit deeper than the Episkey charm was meant to mend, but he took care of most of it and Calypso finished the job seconds later. She echoed Hestia’s statement about Harry’s rapid improvement as the four of them took seats at a number of the desks to take time and recover after the round of duels. 

“Have any of you heard anything about the Terrors actually getting punished for trying to kill me and Cassius? Aside from Dumbledore’s announcement at breakfast, I mean.”

“Nothing,” Cassius said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure the teachers all know who did it, but the bastards are too clever to leave proof.”

“Shame,” Harry said coolly, casting his eyes around the room. “I don’t suppose any of you have any decent ideas on how we might actually get them back?”

“Get them back?” Flora asked, as if she was unsure about what Harry meant.

“Well, personally, I’m not too pleased about the whole mess, to tell the truth. If we don’t, will they not keep doing it? Who knows what they’ll try next time if this was their first idea.”

“They’ll lay low for a while,” Calypso said reasonably. “Mind you, they’ll pull their minor petty pranks and whatnot, but they’ll avoid doing anything major until they think it’s safe to act again.”

“Which makes it the perfect time to strike back,” Harry reasoned. “They’ve been targeting Slytherins the whole time I’ve been at Hogwarts. Now, they’ve gone and pulled something like that.”

“They don’t think like we do, Harry,” Cassius explained. “If we get them back with something vile, most people would get the hint and stop. Those idiots would take it as a challenge. They’d think it’s some kind of game and it would only get worse until one of us really did do something drastic.”

“Or we could just do something drastic from the start and end it in one move.”

“It’s not worth it,” Calypso said sharply, locking gazes with the youngest member of their group. “I know you’re upset about being attacked and I would be too, but don’t play into their games. You’re better than them, a million times better. There’s a reason you’re in the house of the ambitious and they’re not. They’re too busy focused on being school bullies to actually see the big picture. You should spend your energy working on things you actually care about, like magic. Don’t waste your time on those two idiots, especially not with Quidditch on your plate now, too.”

“We’ll make them pay for it on the pitch,” Cassius vowed. “We’ll make the both of them look like idiots. It’s like Calypso said, not worth our time.”

Solemnly, Harry nodded. Perhaps he was just too vengeful, but letting those two tossers off easy felt wrong to him. Calypso and Cassius made valid points and for now, he would listen.

But if the twins pulled anything else in the future, Harry would have to look into a way of ending their one-sided bullying once and for all.

He didn’t like it. Not at all. But for now, he would comply with his friend’s wishes.

_**September 27, 1992  
Summer Isles in Diagon Alley  
8:00 PM** _

Rita had seriously contemplated falling back on her default tendency for any and all meetings of the business or personal variety. In her opinion, showing up fashionably late was a rather excellent way to set a tone for a meeting and to quickly establish an unspoken hierarchy, of sorts. On this odd occasion in late September, she eventually concluded that such a choice would not be prudent.

There was the small issue of her curiosity to contend with. She was genuinely curious about this man in many ways. Not least of which was where he had been for the past ten years. Only months after losing the ministerial election of 1982 in a landslide defeat, Daniel Shafiq had vanished without a trace. Lucius Malfoy had apparently received written permission to serve as proxy for the Shafiq seats, but beyond that, the man had left no indication of where he was or why he had left. 

Rumours had circulated over the years, speculating that he had emigrated to somewhere in Eastern Europe. Personally, Rita had always thought such rumours to be rather lazy. Much of Eastern Europe, particularly those nations that had once formed the Soviet Union were rather secretive. Unlike Magical Britain, France, America and even some major nations in Asia, they did not broadcast their news for the world to see. Germany fell into a sort of middle ground. They would put out the information they wanted to be seen as opposed to anything and everything going public like in Britain.

As a result of the opaque nature of these nations, Skeeter had never put much stock in these rumours. It was rather lazy journalism to make a bold claim on the simple and singular basis that it could not be disproven. 

Needless to say, the reporter was very curious. With Shafiq vanishing so soon after a ministerial campaign and being little more than a ghost for the past decade, she could not help but wonder not only where he’d truly been and what he’d actually gotten up to, but also what exactly had brought him back to Magical Britain.

And why now, of all times.

This curiosity meant something else, too. 

It meant that to Rita, Daniel Shafiq was an unknown. 

She had no idea how much, if any power, he had at his disposal. She had no idea how he might react if she were to show up late, nor did she know if that was a tendency of his, as well. And if she did somehow manage to offend him, she knew nothing of his temperament.

It was uncharted waters for the reporter, and it made her extremely uncomfortable and more than a little bit frustrated, but she had decided that wearing a metaphorical life jacket would be her best course of action.

Part of the reason she often did pull the fashionably late routine, at least when dealing with more known companions, was because Rita herself was an extremely impatient person. It was that exact fact which made her extremely thankful that at 8:00, the exact time the two of them had agreed upon via letters, the door to their room quietly slid open, and a very dapper wizard strode into the room with a definite air of confidence about him.

He was of average height and had a lean sort of look about him. His hair was a dark brown and perhaps an inch or two longer than what would be considered average. In spite of that, it was well-styled in a very classy, sophisticated sort of manner. His facial features were regal and well-defined. His dark eyes had a perpetually calculating look about them. Tonight, he wore simple, but shockingly elegant dress robes of a sleek, black material. His red accents danced rather fabulously in the low candlelight of the room. As they were in the restaurant at this time of the night, the beachside view on all four walls was a night-time view. 

If nothing else, he was a rather handsome man who seemed to have an admirable sense of both style and punctuality. Rita, being the impatient person she was, found herself rather grateful for the latter. She only had to wait for about ten minutes and the man had quite literally strode through the door just as the clock struck 8:00.

“Good evening, Ms. Skeeter,” Shafiq greeted politely, offering her a warm smile as he took the chair across from her before performing a more formal greeting. To her mild annoyance, his accent, though very light, actually did sound Eastern European. Perhaps if it was heavier, she would be able to specify further. As it was, she noticed only because she’d been listening for it.

“A pleasure, Mr. Shafiq. Or, is it still Lord Shafiq?”

The man smiled thinly. “For all intents and purposes, I suppose it is still technically Lord Shafiq while I am on these isles. For you, darling, call me Daniel.”

He was smooth, Rita would give him that. If she were almost any other woman, she suspected she might have blushed. 

Fortunately for her dignity, she was not any other woman.

She realized exactly why the two of them were here. For one reason or another, this was a business meeting. 

Rita doubted Shafiq was simply returning to Britain to lure a witch into his bed. And even if he was, she was realistic enough to realize that she would not be his first choice. Certainly not a witch he would go out of his way to seduce for the sake of pleasure, in any case. Rita was good enough looking, sure, but she was no bombshell, per se. And though she was by far the top reporter at the Prophet, even if that Doe fellow was closing that gap rather significantly as of late, she was not exceedingly rich or important.

To summarize, Rita was not delusional enough to trick herself into believing that she was the kind of woman who Daniel Shafiq would go out of his way to impress.

As she thought on all of this, a well-dressed waiter entered the room and took their orders. Seeing as Shafiq was footing the bill, Rita ordered a rather extravagant meal. To the man’s credit, he did not so much as bat an eye. Really, if he was as clever as Rita suspected, she was sure that he had expected exactly that as soon as the waiter had entered the room. 

When the man left, Daniel turned his dark, calculating eyes back on Rita. In spite of herself, Rita felt a shiver run up her spine. Not out of lust or any such emotion. His eyes were just so probing. It was as if his very stare was serving as thorough and clinical observation of not just her appearance, but her very soul. It was like Legilimency, but she knew it wasn’t. She was no master Occlumens, but she was competent in the art.

“You are single, correct?” Shafiq asked silkily. Rita’s eyes narrowed but she nodded. Shafiq smiled easily. “Relax, Rita. I have no plans of seducing you or any such nonsense. Simply making small talk is all. From what I remember, Brits tend to do most of their business after meals.”

Rita sniffed. “It depends on the Brit, I suppose. Personally, I like to enjoy my meals. If you wouldn’t mind terribly, Daniel, I’d like to get the business out of the way.”

Shafiq studied her for a number of seconds before slowly nodding. “If you wish,” he agreed easily. “I doubt it’s any mystery to you why I’m here, Ms. Skeeter. If your mind is as sharp as your pen, you’ll know exactly what it is I want.”

Rita rested her hands on the table, peering intently across at the man seated before her. “Well, my pen’s quite sharp, Daniel. I’d like to think I still have a pretty good idea as to why you’re here though.” Shafiq showed no reaction to her words. He just kept staring straight ahead, obviously waiting for her to get to the point. “You want information, I’m sure. You think I’m your best bet for blackmail material, so here you are.”

Shafiq’s lips twitched. “A bit crude, but not too far off the mark, I suppose. I have no intention of blackmailing anybody at the moment. Frankly, it’s a headache I have no interest in putting up with at this time. What I would like from you, Rita, is the lay of the land. The real overview, mind you. Not the censored trash that your Ministry of Magic puts out. 

“It’s been years since I’ve left Britain. I imagine that many of the top power players remain the same, but the game has changed, I would assume. When I last left, the country was still in shambles after the Dark Lady met her maker. Now, I imagine that Britain is mildly more stable than it was ten years ago. I want to know, Miss Skeeter, who are the true power players of Magical Britain? Who is it I need to go to in order to get real business done?”

Rita smiled sweetly back at him. “You might have to tell me more, Daniel. If you’d like my help, you would have to tell me what kind of business you’re interested in.”

Shafiq smiled sharply. “You Brits do love dancing around the point, don’t you? I have not missed that in the last ten years. Let’s cut to the chase, Rita. I want information from you and you want information from me. You want a scoop and I want to open myself some avenues. I think we can help each other here, provided we’re both… cooperative. Reasonably so, at least.”

Rita tilted her head. “Sorry, Daniel, but I don’t sell out my sources.”

“I’m not asking you to. All I need to know is some names. If you’d be so kind as to tell me exactly what kind of compensation might interest them, that would also be more than welcome.”

Rita bit her lip. It was nothing damming, she supposed. At least, it didn’t have to be. She could, of course, provide Shafiq with blackmail material, which would serve as an excellent method for him to make whatever transactions he was interested in making. 

But that was a sure fire way to make very dangerous enemies.

“I’m sure I can tell you a bit about a few names,” Rita said diplomatically.

Shafiq smiled, reaching into the pocket of his robes and withdrawing a small, discrete pamphlet. With widened eyes, Rita realized it was dedicated to the Potters. “I’m sure you can, Rita,” Daniel said, and Rita could practically hear the amusement in his voice. “After all, I do enjoy your work.”

Rita did valiantly try to keep her eyes from widening but she found herself to not be quite successful in the endeavour. She was fairly sure he didn’t know that she was an Animagus. His voice was a bit smug, perhaps, but not enough so to imply he had true blackmail material on her. 

Still, it was an impressive deduction to make. Devilishly difficult to prove, but not impossible.

Just then, the door opened as their meals arrived. Discreetly, Daniel slid the file off the table just in time. When the waiter left the room, he pulled his meal towards him and began to cut the steak on his plate, clearly waiting for her response.

“Touché,” Rita conceded with a slight inclination of her head. “Quite tricky to prove, but useful.”

“I don’t intend to blackmail you. I just personally find that revealing the truth upfront makes conversations far less guarded. Especially between relative strangers.” Rita had to give him one thing. The man was good — very good. “But, I’m a fair man,” Shafiq went on. “I know it kills you to let unfounded rumours float around so freely. So, I’ll give you the scoop you want. My condition is that the article in question is released no time soon. It will be published when I give the okay, no sooner, no later. Those are my conditions, my trade proposal. It’s all on the table, Ms. Skeeter. Take it or leave it.”

Admittedly, having to wait to publish the article was irritating, but not impactful, per se. Unless she wasn’t the only reporter he was meeting, but she doubted that seeing as her being a reporter clearly wasn’t his primary reason for meeting her. “Fine.” Rita agreed haughtily.

Daniel smiled, reclining back in his seat as he took a long sip of his wine. “Well then, ask away, Miss Skeeter. The floor is yours.” He paused. “It should be obvious that I won’t tolerate any tampered quills or altered accounts.”

Rita nodded stiffly, pulling her purse from under her chair and removing a roll of parchment and a magical quill. When she had set the latter up to accurately dictate the conversation, she began. “Where have you been for the past ten years? With respect, it’s quite unusual for a would-be Minister for Magic to just get up and leave the country.”

Daniel seemed to ponder the question before answering it. “I realized that Magical Britain was not what I needed at that time. That election and its entire process taught me many things. One of which was that I wouldn’t be able to achieve the things I wanted in Britain. No time soon, at least. Once Crouch became Minister and I came to that realization, Magical Britain had nothing to offer me. I’ve been in Eastern Europe ever since. Nowadays, I proudly represent the Resurging Republic of Hansa as one of its top political minds.”

That was news to Rita Skeeter.

In 1920, a number of the most powerful nations in Eastern Europe formed the Soviet Union. The reasoning behind this was that considering Grindelwald’s impending war, the countries realized that it was likely they would need to rely on each other for support. Funnily enough, the muggles followed suit two years later. This was not unusual. Oftentimes, when a major political play was made in the magical world, it would be reflected in the mundane world not long after, especially when it was one of that magnitude.

Ultimately, the tactic was ineffective, as Grindelwald still managed to steamroll his way through Eastern Europe. But when he fell, the Union remained. Crippled by Grindelwald’s war, they relied on each other for more than forty long years. 

In the mid to late 1980s, there were rumblings that the Soviet Union would disband, as several of the magical nations believed that after all this time, they were well enough off to stand on their own two feet. In 1988, those rumours became reality when Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia disbanded from the Magical World’s Soviet Union and formed the RRoH, or, the Resurgent Republic of Hansa. Skeeter knew the name had historical significance only because she had written an article for it in the Prophet. 

The Hansa portion of the name was in reference to the Hanseatic League, which had been a union of nations in the Baltic region from the fourteenth to eighteenth centuries. This union had existed in both the magical and muggle worlds, which really wasn’t all that surprising. Apparently, the name “Hansa” was an allusion to the region’s past history.

“What is your role, exactly?” Rita asked, genuinely curious.

“I have several,” Shafiq admitted. “Most notably, I am the newly minted international ambassador. For several years now, I have served as a top political advisor. I was one of the many who pushed along the process of the union’s founding in the mid to late 1980s. It was a long, tiresome process but in the end, it’s all worked out for the best.”

“Is that what brings you back to Britain then? Your role as international ambassador, I mean.”

“Among other more personal matters, yes.”

“What can you disclose about the founding of the Republic? Details were scarce when the news first broke, as I’m sure you know.”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Shafiq answered apologetically. “That’s a bit above my pay grade, unfortunately.”

Rita very highly doubted that was true, but she could hardly press him on the matter. “And what of those more personal motivations? Any comments on those?”

“Not at this time.”

Rita sighed, sitting back to ponder more questions. Shafiq, on the other hand, took the chance to lean forward. “While you think of more questions, I have some for you as well, if you’re willing?”

Nearly two hours later, the two of them concluded their meal. Rita was fairly happy with the information she had gathered, even if she was mildly miffed about Shafiq’s insistence that the article was only to be published on his command. She had given him the information he had wanted, but she hadn’t given away anything damming. 

All in all, she was rather pleased with the exchange.

When Shafiq stood, he neatly made his way around the table to pull out her chair as she too took her feet. As he did so, he seemed to be a bit tipsy, likely as a result of the wine he had consumed. He steadied himself with a hand on Rita’s shoulder. She felt a slight yank as his hand forcefully and inadvertently tugged at her hair, but she made nothing of it. 

When Shafiq apologized in a manner marginally less smooth than he had been thus far, she simply waved him off. 

She was in too good of a mood by this point to be overly bothered by a hand on her shoulder.

_**September 29, 1992  
The Potions Classroom  
8:00 PM** _

Harry paused outside the door to Snape’s classroom with narrowed eyes. In typical Snape fashion, he’d been told to show up to the classroom the next night during their Monday morning Potions lesson. Just as typical, Snape hadn’t told him what he would actually be doing. He had just told him to bring his textbooks, which Harry found wholly unhelpful.

He could tell, with the help of the enchanted ring he still wore on his finger that there was one person inside the room. The logical assumption would be that the person was Snape. For some reason, Harry considered that very unlikely. Snape did not exactly go out of his way to make Harry’s life easy, so he highly doubted he was about to start some sort of secret tutoring sessions. 

After spending about two minutes standing outside the room and trying to figure out who was inside and what was going on, Harry gave up. In the end, he had always known that there was only going to be one way to find out. Still, paranoia had reared its head a fair number of times as of late. After the events of his first year, it was only natural, after all. 

Sighing, he knocked lightly several times on the door. When he heard no immediate response, Harry correctly assumed that the door was enchanted to block noise both ways. Keeping this in mind, Harry took a firm grip on the doorknob and quietly slid the door open while he positioned his other hand to summon his wand at a moment’s notice.

He had to admit, whatever he’d been expecting, Pansy Parkinson was not it.

“Parkinson?”

“Potter.” Harry just stared at her, trying to mentally put the puzzle together. They’d spoken privately a grand total of twice, and both of those occasions were direct components of a sort of business acquisition. 

It was that thought and Harry’s memory that put the pieces together as he quietly closed the door behind him.

Parkinson had come to cash in. With some amusement, Harry decided that he wasn’t going to make this easy on her. Not at first, anyway.

“I’ll admit, Parkinson, I wasn’t sure what to expect when Snape told me to turn up here. Whatever it was, you weren’t it.”

Pansy just tilted her head while gesturing for Harry to take the seat across from her. As he made to do so, she endeavoured to respond to his rather open-ended statement with one of her own. “I’m not sure whether or not I should be offended by that.”

Harry shrugged as he took his seat. “Personally, I thought I was beneath your notice.” 

Pansy blinked. “You what?”

“You’ve never exactly been my biggest supporter, have you? I mean, you never went out of your way to make my life hell like some others I could mention, but you never exactly minded when they did it. It never stopped you from supporting them.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “So, because I didn’tkiss up to you, you think I thought I was better than you? A bit rich, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugged, deciding to get to the point. “I think it’s about right. You think all people like me are beneath you, don’t you?”

Parkinson’s eyes narrowed further. “What are you on about, Potter?”

“Don’t play dumb, Parkinson. It’s a waste of my time and yours. I’ve seen the way you look at Tracey. You’ve never gone out of your way to curse her, but I’ve seen the glances. The way you grudgingly put up with her when Daphne was around. I wasn’t much different, really. You never went out of your way to talk to me last year. You actually weren’t interested until I offered you something in return. You preferred Malfoy, obviously. You had no problem following him around while he tried to get me and Tracey expelled.” He raised an eyebrow. “You clearly didn’t care about ‘halfblood scum’ last year. I’m curious, Parkinson, what’s changed?”

The two of them had a rather intense staring contest in the moments that followed Harry’s challenge. For his part, Harry had to actively resist the impulse to try and push past her eyes and glean at least her general thoughts. Merlin, Harry couldn’t wait until he could actually learn Legilimency. After about a minute, Parkinson looked away, sniffed and then glared back at Harry.

“Why are you making this so difficult, Potter? You obviously know what I want since you’ve already brought it up. I’m sure you remember the deal as well as I do. So what do you want from me?”

“Answer my last question first, Parkinson. I’m still deciding.”

Pansy sighed. “Fine then. Yes, I chose Draco. Can you blame me? The heir to one of the richest and most powerful families in Magical Britain. Lucius Malfoy being a family friend. Not a close one, I admit, but still. I mean, really, no offense, but who would you have bet on? Draco’s group, which also includes Theodore, and heir of a Founding House, or your group? Yes, Daphne is the heiress of a House at least as powerful as Draco’s and even more prestigious, but Davis is a nobody, Zabini isn’t even a House in England and I knew nothing about you.”

“So you just made assumptions. You assumed I was like any other halfblood — not worth your time.”

“But honestly, can you blame me? Can you blame me for picking Draco’s-“

“Parkinson, you either don’t get my point or are avoiding it. I think it’s probably the latter, so let’s make this very direct. I couldn't care less about Malfoy. As long as he keeps that damn slur out of his mouth, that mess is over. If he keeps throwing that word around in every damn conversation then yes, we have problems. I don’t care that you picked Draco right away. I would’ve probably done the same thing if I was in your position. My problems, Parkinson, came later. 

“You want me to just open my arms and let you into my group of friends, but there are two major problems with that. For one thing, how can I trust you? You stuck it out with Malfoy as long as he was useful to you. You made damn sure I was the better option before deciding to switch sides. He tried to ruin my life last year and you stuck by him. How can I honestly believe that you’re not going to backstab me as soon as you see a better option?”

Parkinson fixed him with a long, hard stare. “First of all,” she started, “I have no idea what Draco did to you. I know exactly what he did to Davis at the beginning of the year, but I have no idea what you mean when you say he tried to ruin you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. She wasn’t lying. He knew that much at once. He could sniff out a lie from a mile away most of the time, and that sixth sense of his was screaming that she was being honest.

That did change things, at least a little bit.

“Even if that makes you a bit more decent, it doesn’t really answer my loyalty question, does it?”

“I’m not making a vow or signing a contract. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

This was going to be a problem. Harry did not trust people. Not easily, at least. Granted, between him and Charlotte, he thought the chances of Pansy getting away with some sort of play were fairly low. It still wasn’t a risk he was thrilled to take, but he supposed if it was necessary.

“I’m going to pretend to be way more naive than I actually am and just take your word for it, for now. So, let’s just summarize this. You want to slide into my group of friends even though you practically hung off of a rival of ours last year?” Scowling, Pansy nodded. “And you want to leave your group of well-bred purebloods to come hang out with two worthless halfbloods?” 

“Can you just get to your point, Potter? It’s not like it matters, anyway. You already agreed last December.”

“I don’t remember signing anything.”

Pansy suddenly paled. “You gave me your word! You wouldn’t-“

“Not unless I had a good reason to, no. But I need to make sure I don’t have a good reason to tell you to bugger off. That’s the entire point of all of this.” Technically, Harry was not bound to do anything. Among purebloods, however, giving your word was not something to be taken lightly. It was only done with true intent and if you openly violated an explicitly verbalized agreement, it would not be something you wanted floating around. It was a rather effective way to plunge your reputation straight into the dirt. 

“Here’s the deal, Parkinson. I’m going to hold up my end since you held up yours. As long as you answer one question one-hundred percent honestly and make me one promise.”

Pansy just sighed. “Fine — what do you want?”

“Why now? Why are you finally picking me over Malfoy?”

Pansy didn’t seem to want to answer that question but after a time, she acquiesced. “I stuck it out with Draco as long as I could, like you said. He’s been… different since the end of last year, but really different lately. I put my bet on Draco, like you pointed out. It’s obvious that it was the wrong bet. I… was raised by parents who would’ve wanted nothing more than for me to have Draco’s children. I thought tying myself to him early was the best thing to do. Obviously now, I realize it isn’t.”

The answer was blunt and clinical, but that was exactly what Harry wanted in it. “Fair enough,” he accepted. “Now, you do realize that both me and Tracey are halfbloods, right?” Pansy nodded. “And you realize that right now, if I have to pick between you and Tracey, I’m picking her every time.” Pansy seemed to glower at that but nodded. “I have a feeling you’ll be civil to me, if for no other reason than the fact that I’m the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House. But Tracey isn’t. I hate to admit it, but you were right. She’s basically a no-name halfblood. 

“Can you promise to not only be civil to me and Tracey, but to actually try and ignore our blood? Can you promise to treat me and Tracey like you would treat any other rich, powerful pureblood? Can you promise that if you enter our friend group, you can actually try and form friendships and not just business partnerships?”

The pause that followed Harry’s string of questions was the longest and tensest one yet. This time, Pansy did not meet Harry’s gaze. Instead, she sat stock still with her eyes closed as if she were in deep thought. A full minute later, she slowly tilted her head up and opened her eyes, finally locking them onto Harry’s emerald gaze. 

“I promise that I’ll treat you, Davis and whoever else you like as if they were a pureblood heir or heiress and that I will actually try and form friendships and not just relationships.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand. “Well then, I’m a man of my word, so I guess we’re done here.” He paused. “Oh, one more thing. If we’re going to try this whole ‘friends’ thing out, call me Harry.”

Pansy took his hand. “Pansy,” she answered shortly but not impolitely. “And… if we’re going to be friends now, I don’t suppose you’d help me with some Transfiguration? That was the excuse I gave Snape, but I actually don’t have any idea what McGonagall has been talking about.”

In spite of himself, Harry’s lips twitched. “I don’t have all night, but we can spend some time on it, sure.”

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

Benedict Cuffe’s week was off to a miserable start. This week was the first of his Hogwarts tenure in which the teachers had truly unleashed their full, unguarded wrath upon the new, first year Slytherins. That was to say, the mountain of homework which sat in front of the youngest son of House Cuffe was truly gargantuan in comparison to any they’d had prior to. It was because of this that not only Benedict, but also his year mates, Derrick, Arthur, Martin, Brandon and Alex were all cooped up in the quiet privacy of their dormitory. They were all working diligently to finish the outrageous amount of work on all of their collective plates.

Benedict found himself jolted out of his work, however, when a faint glow emanated from his school bag. Unfortunately, this also drew the attention of all the other Slytherin first year boys.

“What do you have there, Ben?” Derrick asked with interest, his dark eyes roaming over Ben’s school bag, which was opened just a crack.

“Nothing,” Benedict answered hastily, sliding the bag further under the desk and subconsciously moving his feet to either side of it in order to serve as a kind of shield. Derrick shrugged and looked away, but Benedict was not fooled.

The glow had caught the eyes of his fellow first year Slytherins. 

And its source was something that he could allow none of them to see.

__**October 2, 1992**  
Knockturn Alley  
11:24 PM 

With a soft crack, a tall, pale-skinned man with slick-backed raven hair appeared about a block away from a rather shady apartment complex. To most, the sight of the low, battered building that lay ahead would be underwhelming, if not outright depressing.

But to the young, keen reporter named John Doe, it was all he had.

John had lost his parents at a very early age. In fact, he’d lost his parents as they had attempted to take him home from the hospital. Both of them died in a tragic car accident. It was only much later in life that John realized his magic was likely the only thing that had saved him. That night, he had been brought to an orphanage. Apparently, it was somebody’s sick idea to name him John Doe and for some, god-forsaken reason, the name had stuck.

Fast forward years later, and the quiet, awkward outcast of the orphanage who made mysterious things happen around him was given a Hogwarts letter. While at Hogwarts, John had been a Ravenclaw who had not made a great number of friends. He had been a decent student, but never brilliant. He’d excelled in History of Magic, but was average aside from that.

When he’d graduated Hogwarts, he’d known immediately that journalism was what he wanted to pursue. By then, he had already known that for years. He had spent a great deal of time researching his parents, their origins and anything to do with them. Those were the days when the idea of journalism had first crawled into his mind.

Then, in 1986, John Doe had graduated from Hogwarts and several years later, in 1990, he had been employed by the Daily Prophet. Even after being employed, money was tight. The newspaper employed a large stable of writers, but oftentimes, they only used a few of them. 

Thus, John Doe had been forced to purchase a very low budget apartment in Knockturn Alley. It had been the cheapest place he could find and at the time, that had been all he’d cared about. Finally, after his big break that had been the Potter family gala of 1992, John was starting to become hopeful for his prospects. The Prophet had been putting him in a number of big spots lately and soon, he planned to move out of this dump.

But unfortunately, tonight was not that night.

Tonight, John was apparating back home after a long, tiring day at work. Actually, it had been a long, tiring week. John was greatly looking forward to just sitting back and relaxing for the night but as soon as his feet touched down in the shady half of the two connected alleys, John immediately knew that something was wrong.

He drew his wand immediately, lighting its tip and turning in a full circle to find the stare he could feel upon him. There were no lights of any kind around him, so John could see almost nothing beyond what was lit by the tip of his wand. 

But about three-quarters of the way through his circle, his wand light found a figure. She was rather familiar, too. In the dim light, he couldn’t make out much, but those ostentatious glasses were nearly impossible to miss.

“Rita?”

“Good evening, John.” Her voice was perfectly neutral, which was what John had come to expect over his several years of employment for the Prophet. Despite the fact, he knew that she had been rather bothered by the entire fiasco involving James Potter and his family’s gala.

“What brings you to Knockturn Alley, Rita? For some reason, I didn’t peg you for the type.”

John almost recoiled at the smile on Rita’s face. “Just taking care of business, John.” Before John could do so much as move, Rita’s wand had slid from her sleeve and it was slashing through the air. Then, she incanted, and the words she spoke shocked John Doe so greatly that he didn’t even attempt to move or cherish the last moments of his life.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

As the killer quickly disapparated, another man lurking nearby nodded in satisfaction as he shuffled under the invisibility cloak that his employer had supplied him with. This job had escalated quickly, but Mundungus Fletcher had to get paid somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you guys haven’t figured out the ending yet, be patient. As crazy as it all seems right now, I promise you it makes sense and will all come together in the next chapter**
> 
> **I’m happy to finally have Shafiq back in the equation. I have been planning his backstory in detail for quite some time now, so it’s good to have him back. I hope that scene didn’t come across as too much of an info dump.**
> 
> **For those who missed it in the chapter, the fictional Resurgent Republic of Hansa is an allusion to the real-life Hanseatic League. If you haven’t been able to tell from the references in the fic thus far, I enjoy history.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 12th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord editors who assisted with edits this week:**
> 
> **Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898**


	14. Schemes Uncovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**October 4, 1992  
A Room In The Dungeons  
9:52 PM** _

Harry sighed as the pressure on his mind relented as Grace leaned back. “That should do for tonight,” she told him, neatly concluding yet another one of their Occlumency focused lessons. With Harry’s inclusion onto the Quidditch team, they had slightly altered their schedule. Now, they worked exclusively on combat magic every Thursday night and Occlumency every Sunday. Learning Occlumency was a slow process. Well, according to Grace, he was actually progressing quite quickly, but it was a much slower process than level one had been thus far. Granted, Emily had forewarned him that this would be the case, but it was still mildly frustrating. As much as he tried, Harry wasn’t the most patient person the world had ever seen, and this fact stared glaringly at him during Occlumency lessons as of late.

For now, Grace wasn’t actually attacking his mind, per se. They still had yet to progress past the stage in which she launched weak probes into his mind and simply allowed him to clear it in spite of the presence. Even the presence of the probe made the clearing of his mind more difficult. He could do it easily but not quite instantly. According to Grace, there would be a stage in which she would actually have to increase the potency of her probes, but that would not come until he could consistently clear his mind instantaneously in spite of a weak probe’s presence. She did say, however, that said time was drawing quite near. 

Harry had conflicting feelings about that inevitable time in the progression of his Occlumency. On one hand, Harry was, as noted, impatient. He wanted to improve as fast as possible. On the other, that was the point of the practice in which Grace would actually have to attempt to breach his defences. In the process, it was inevitable that she was going to glean memories.

Regrettably, Harry had quite a vast array of memories that he would prefer to be kept from any eyes, no matter who they belonged to. Even if he was starting to trust Grace more and more each lesson, that did not mean he wanted her to potentially relive his worst memories.

“You seem bothered,” Grace observed, peering curiously at the younger Slytherin in front of her. 

Harry shrugged. “A lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Grace did not immediately answer, but when she did, her voice was carefully modulated. “I’m assuming you’re frustrated about not being able to speed through level two in the same way you did the first stage?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know it might not feel like it, but you actually are speeding through stage two. At this rate, you’ll be onto level three well before the end of the year, which would be much, much faster than average.” Grace paused. “I think you’re at a point where you can start looking into subskills, too. There isn’t a whole lot for level two, since most of the more useful skills require a very firm grip on Occlumency, but there are some things that could definitely be of interest to you.”

“You said that subskills could be learned on my own, correct?”

“They can be, yes. They shouldn’t give you any problems at this stage, at least. Go research them and if you have any questions, you can always ask me. If we need to spend a session on them, that’s fine. Between the two of us, I really don’t think you’ll have a problem with them.”

It was still odd getting complimented by anyone. It didn’t happen much until Hogwarts, with the exception of the odd peer commenting on his intellect throughout his muggle school days. Even then, instances of that became less and less frequent as he had grown older. Primarily, because most of the time, praise of any sort levelled towards Harry usually resulted in the person who praised him getting beat to a pulp after school hours. 

Since joining Hogwarts, he had been praised far more often. By his peers, friends and teachers alike. In spite of the fact that it happened more often, it still wasn’t frequent. Mostly because of his group of friends. All of them, with the exception of Tracey, in some instances, were very modulated in what they revealed or said. This made things like open praise infrequent. 

In light of that, Harry still felt an odd warmth rise in his chest every time somebody praised him. It was a nice feeling, but it was almost always contradicted by a feeling of awkwardness as well. As of yet, he had not quite figured out how to respond to praise from friends. It was easier with strangers, for some odd reason. There was less pressure with strangers. Harry was used to putting on a facade for strangers, so it was easy to take in stride.

With friends though, another thing was still somewhat new to him, it was still a situation he was learning to navigate slowly.

With all of this in mind, it wasn’t really a surprise when his only reaction to Grace was a small, slightly awkward smile and a muttered thanks.

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

Benedict found himself thoroughly exhausted as he entered his dormitory on Sunday evening. The last week had been by far the busiest of his Hogwarts career thus far. The workload had taken a toll on him, but the same could be said for most everyone in his year. Oftentimes, students looked forward to the weekend for the much-needed respite it often provided. However, for Benedict and most of his year mates, their reality over the past two days had solely consisted of the library, in which they poured over an absurd number of texts for assistance and cross-references. 

Benedict could only hope the teachers finally relented a bit this week. Aside from a couple of assignments that were not due until later in the week, he had mercifully caught up and if it could stay that way for more than twenty-four hours, Benedict would be profoundly grateful for the fact.

Finally, being done with his work for the weekend, Benedict was intensely looking forward to a bit of relaxation. He had politely turned down Alex Jugson’s offered game of chess in favour of a calm, quiet night in the dorm. At present, Benedict wanted to do nothing that was mentally more fatiguing than reading. Well, he might write to his parents, a bit, but that would be the extent of the exertion he would be willing to put up with tonight.

It was, upon later reflection, the night in which Benedict had been more mentally exhausted than any thus far.

It was also the night that taught Benedict that the force of irony truly was a fickle and petty thing. It often struck when those at its mercy were at their weakest because in its estimation, causing a bit of mayhem in one’s life clearly wasn’t enough. If it did that and also exacerbated existing stress simultaneously, that was a more worthy result of its intervention.

The precise manner in which Benedict Cuffe learned that hard reality was manifested in what greeted him upon entering the Slytherin dorms. As soon as he pushed the door open, he paused, mouth hanging agape as his eyes bulged with worry.

Most of the dorm room was untouched.

The exception to this was the space around Benedict’s bed.

His trunk was turned on its side and left open with his clustered belongings spreading haphazardly out around it. Clearly, the standard wards that came with the trunk hadn’t been enough. He had never even considered that he might have needed wards of a stronger variety, and his father had certainly never mentioned the fact.

Thoughts of the clearly broken wards on his trunk were not what plagued Benedict as he hastily scrambled to sort through the mess on the floor, heart racing faster and faster as his continued search for a very specific belonging continued to produce no results.

After five minutes, Benedict completed the third full search of his belongings and by this point, his heart had practically beat out of his chest.

He hadn’t brought many things to Hogwarts he deemed as essential.

But the one thing he absolutely could not afford to lose was the small, black book that he used to communicate with his mother. Not only was it something sentimental, but if somebody found it, managed to break the privacy enchantments and read its contents, the results would potentially be catastrophic, and inevitably be disastrous.

With terror closing around his heart, the youngest son of House Cuffe raced back out of the common room, intent on sending a letter of warning as soon as possible.

If the sacred secrets of the past were about to be uncovered, those who would be most directly and impactfully affected should know as soon as possible.

_**Fifteen minutes later, in a different dorm room in the dungeons…** _

Only one room down from the distressed first-year Slytherin and completely unaware of his housemate’s trouble, Harry Potter retreated behind his warded curtains and slid his own, slim, black book from his bag, propping it open and putting a quill to the pages for the first time in what felt like ages.

_Emily,  
Apparently, I’ve been making good progress with Occlumency. It doesn’t really feel like it, to be honest, but I guess my tutor is probably in a better place to say than I am. _

_Not surprising in the least. As I told you, the stages of Occlumency get exponentially more difficult and monotonous to progress through. Did she give any specific updates on your progress?_

_Just that she thinks I’ll easily finish stage two this year._

_Hmm… I would expect nothing less if truth be told. If you keep the same dedication you had this summer, I would estimate some time in the late winter or early spring, perhaps? Though admittedly, she should have a better estimation than I, even if I have superior knowledge in the field._

Harry never failed to be amazed by Emily’s casual confidence. She wasn’t braggadocious or anything of the sort, nor did she go out of her way to claim herself above others. That being said, if a natural comparison came up, she would clinically and confidently state her superiority each and every time. It was similar to how she had spoken about her alternative methods with such a startling degree of confidence and clarity. It was one of the things that had convinced Harry to fully buy into her system of teaching mind magic in the first place.

 _That wasn’t all she said today._ Harry wrote. _She told me to go and research subskills of stage two._

_Wise of her to wait as long as she has. Judging you based on the limited amount of information I have, I am going to assume that you have likely already at least skimmed the subskills contents of stage two Occlumency?_

With a twitch of his lips, Harry wrote back his affirmative answer.

_And please tell me that you have not tried any of it on your own before myself or your tutor has told you to proceed?_

_I haven’t, no. Believe it or not, I’ve actually only skimmed the subskills bit. I’ve been more focused on combat magic, Runes and Arithmancy lately. Also in getting further ahead in my other school subjects._

The pause this time was a bit longer than normal, but the response was still swift.

_Runes and Arithmancy? If I am correct, neither of those subjects is taught at Hogwarts until the third year. Wise of you to work ahead in foundational branches of magic, nonetheless. I would be happy to answer any questions about either of those subjects, too. The same goes for any of your school subjects or… extracurricular studies._

Harry took a moment to ponder that offer. Immediately, he knew it was one he would be taking advantage of. He had no idea if she was nearly as skillful with those branches of magic as she was with Occlumency, but she had been a once in a lifetime prodigy as a youth, so he thought his odds were quite favourable.

_I don’t suppose you could give me a rundown on subskills for stage two Occlumency?_

_Certainly_ , Emily answered promptly. _As you know, stage one of Occlumency was about understanding your own mind and being able to sense irregularities within it. Naturally, stage two is an extension of the first. In terms of the active Occlumency side of things, you are learning and will continue to learn to actually repel the directly harmful irregularities._

_But the passive side of Occlumency is also an extension of level one as well. During stage one, you used meditation to understand the regularities and irregularities of your mind. You did this on a very broad, very general scope. In level two, you will dive deeper into the process of self-exploration. You will not only learn to recognize irregularities, but you will learn to read your own thoughts and emotions on a deeper level. You will learn to evaluate your own emotions accurately and clinically._

_This is the first major step in stage two Occlumency. It is a subskill in and of itself, in a way, though it is not technically classified under that categorization. Without a very strong grasp on this concept, the wielding of other subskills within this field will be detrimental to your mental health and possibly your sanity._

Harry had to resist the urge to gulp. _Thanks for the warning, I guess. What are these subskills in level two, then?_

_To vastly oversimplify things as I usually do regarding the Mind Arts, the manipulation or outright suppression of one's emotions at any given time._

Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

Yes, he could see why that could potentially be extremely dangerous if one’s mind was not very well moderated before diving into the deep end attached to that particular pool.

He couldn’t deny how useful that sounded, either.

It was definitely something he would be looking into as soon as possible.

_Building on the manipulation of one’s own emotions, stage two is when you can begin implementing supplementary Occlumency._

Harry frowned. _I’m… not actually sure of what that means._

_I would not expect you to be. Are you aware of the impact intent has on your magic, and the ways that emotions can potentially be either useful or utterly counterproductive depending on the spell and the context in which it is used?_

Harry winced, remembering his conversation with Voldemort the year prior after he had blasted Nott with the most grossly overpowered boil hex one could dream of. _I am, yes._

_Well, supplementary Occlumency makes the entire process almost trivial. In short, supplementary Occlumency is you manipulating your mind to have it rest in the perfect state for any given spell. For instance, if it is a spell that relies heavily on either intent, visualization, or a combination of the two, you can keep a mind that is void of everything except the intent or image that is required. This will greatly increase both the effectiveness and efficiency of the spell. For esoteric magic, you can actually force certain emotions to the surface, though that is more difficult to do._

_Supplementary Occlumency also has the benefit of increasing the speed with which you can cast magic. This is most noticeable when casting in chained formats, but even for singular spells, you will channel the magic more quickly because your mind will already be in the necessary state with a mere thought. There will be no need for forceful manipulation, least of all once the necessary mental memory has been obtained._

Harry swore he could feel his ears perk up. 

Now that… that was something he wanted very badly.

_**October 5, 1992  
Malfoy Manor  
10:43 AM** _

Lucius and Narcissa had a late breakfast that Monday morning. The previous day’s Wizengamot meeting had gone far, far longer than expected as a result of heated discussion centring around proposed alterations to the Muggle Protection Act. As much as Lucius had been in favour of each and every proposed adjustment, it had still been rather irritating in the long run. It turned out that as the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, co-leader of the largest faction in the Wizengamot and owner of several major and countless minor businesses, his schedule was quite tight. 

And even that did not account for other, miscellaneous activities and endeavours.

Needless to say, Lucius’s entire day had been rattled as a result of the extended cluster of chaos that had been the meeting the day prior. For the rest of Sunday, he had essentially been running around like a wild chicken with its head cut off trying and for the most part failing to catch up on the day’s events. 

All in all, it had been a rather miserable day.

It could have perhaps been salvaged if their alterations to the blasted law had been passed, but the chaos had delayed the voting process even further. Forget about passing, they hadn’t even had time to propose all of their counter ideas, let alone open a court wide vote on the matter. Some times, Lucius thought that Magical Britain was more chaotic now than when the Dark Lady had been at the height of her powers.

At least then, there had been one major faction in the country that was organized.

All of this chaos meant that Lucius had been up very late last night. Narcissa was naturally a late riser and was absolutely not a morning person. So for a rare morning, the two of them sat together at the immaculate table which dominated much of their more “casual” dining hall. 

There had never been much love between Lucius and Narcissa. They got on and were more than cordial with one another. The two of them found the other attractive, which made things easier in a lot of ways, but in the end, their marriage had been a business proposition, and in large parts, it had been tainted as a result.

Perhaps that was another one of the reasons they rarely ate breakfast together whilst Draco was off at Hogwarts.

Just as Lucius raised a cup of tea to his lips, a loud crack emanated throughout the room. If not for very well-honed emotional control, Lucius may well have flinched and dropped the cup from the surprise. As it was, he just raised it to his lips, quirking a platinum brow and narrowing his eyes disdainfully at his least favourite of the filthy creatures who served him. He did not dignify the thing with a verbalized question. It understood his intent well enough.

“Your mail, Master Lucius, Mistress Ciss-Narcissa.” Narcissa’s eye twitched at the elf’s slip up. There had been a time when the elf had called her Cissy. Probably because by that time, it had heard her sister, Bellatrix, call her that every time she was over. Seeing as Bellatrix was likely closer to Narcissa than anyone else, Lucius supposed the elf had tried to endear itself to his wife.

But such things were unacceptable.

An elf was to address its masters properly at all times. An elf was certainly not supposed to take nearly a year of harsh reminders before finally getting the point, either.

With a stiff nod, Lucius signified for Dobby to place the mail on the table. 

It all appeared to be simple letters. Well, simple as in nothing interesting inside. Lucius was sure that the contents of each letter were likely anything but simple. The lone exception to this was not a large box by any means. In fact, it was one that Lucius had not expected. In spite of, and, he supposed, as a result of that fact, it was the package he was most interested in. Not least of all because of the way it had been wrapped. Clearly, whoever had wrapped it had done so in extreme haste. As if they had been desperate to send the thing off.

As suspicions started to race in Lucius’s mind, he reached out a hand towards the largest package and pulled it towards him. With well-practiced precision, Lucius opened the package. At first, his eyes narrowed at the seemingly mundane contents. But then, when he read the note haphazardly stuck to the back of the book, his posture straightened at once.

“Narcissa,” Lucius addressed his wife, “arrange for Bartemius and Bellatrix to join us tonight for dinner, will you?”

Narcissa tilted her head. “Of course, husband. Is there any particular reason why you suddenly seem so interested in their company?”

Lucius pondered how much to tell her, but decided for the truth, if not all of it. “Bartemius’s knowledge of Charms is rather impressive. It’s always a pleasure to… pick his brain on the subject.”

_**Meanwhile, at the home of Rita Skeeter…** _

Rita’s eyes bulged comically beneath her gem-encrusted glasses as her hands shook violently at the letter she clutched near her chest.

The contents of that letter were something to fear. Rita was a paranoid person. For many years, she had feared the truth of this situation coming to light. But now that said reality was bearing down fast upon her, Rita could not help but shake with nerves.

This could be damming, ruining even.

So ironic that the very candle that had helped further her career may well end up being the one that ended it.

_**October 7, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
7:46 PM** _

Yet again, Ginny found herself sitting at a desk in an abandoned classroom with her eldest Hogwarts attending brother. The two of them had made a sort of weekly habit of this since Ginny’s sorting. This week, they’d spent much of the time with Percy helping Ginny with Transfiguration, which was by no means her best subject. The two of them had also talked about the rest of the family again.

By now, Ginny had received a number of letters from their mother. On the whole, she seemed entirely supportive. There were certainly numerous warnings about “not falling in with the wrong sort” and “making friends with the right kind of people”, but her mother did not seem to think any less of her as a result of her sorting, which was a relief to Ginny. Her father had only written briefly, but he included some passages in her mother’s letters. He was a busy man at the moment, what with the ongoing drama concerning the Muggle Protection Act. Even in the best of times, Arthur had never been overly fond of letters. He always preferred to do things in person, when possible.

Percy thankfully echoed her assumptions, assuring her that neither their mother nor their father held her sorting against her. Apparently, he had been in contact with Bill, and he too had seemed nonplussed by the whole event. Granted, as Percy put it, Bill was nonplussed by most things.

Finally, they came to the other Weasleys currently calling Hogwarts castle their home.

“I still haven’t heard anything from the twins,” Ginny said carefully, watching Percy’s face for a reaction. There was definitely something in his eyes, but Ginny was not entirely sure what it meant.

“Their opinion hasn’t changed, I don’t think. They wish you were in Gryffindor like we all do, but they don’t hold it against you. But again, the twins… well, they don’t exactly deal with emotions well. They just resort to humour to get their point across and obviously, that’s not going to work here. I actually don’t think they know how to make heads or tails of the situation. I don’t think they know how to approach you at all.”

“What if I approached them instead?”

Percy paused. “I… think you would be in for a very awkward first few minutes of conversation until the ice broke. After that, all would be normal, I’d guess. They’d realize that they don’t need humour to solve every problem, at least, which is a plus in my books.”

Ginny snorted. “Why do I feel like you actually keep notebooks for all of the members of the family?”

“That seems like something you lot would do, no?” Percy asked teasingly, gesturing to the serpentine crest which adorned Ginny’s robes. 

Ginny sighed. “Probably, yeah.”

“Still trouble in Slytherin, then?”

“You could say that, yeah. I… have people who are helping me. I don’t really think we’re friends, but they’ve been nice the whole time. If-if not for them, it would’ve been a lot harder.”

“But?” Percy prompted, sensing that there was a catch that had not yet entered the equation.

“But the bigoted gits are still being gits,” Ginny deadpanned. “Most of them just glare at me, but the odd one will mutter blood traitor when I’m walking near them. Travers still keeps going off on me every time Weitts isn’t there. Honestly, the way she looks at Weitts, you’d think she’s You-Know-Who.”

“The younger one, you mean?”

“Charlotte, yeah.”

“I… know her sister, a bit. Not well, but we’re both Prefects and she’s Head Girl this year. We’ve been in the same meetings for the last two years, and she runs the Prefect’s meetings this year. I’ve always found her to be perfectly respectable. She’s always treated me decent. We haven’t spoken much, but she’s never sneered at me or called me anything childish under her breath.”

“Is that why you said I should try and make friends with her little sister?”

“It didn’t hurt the idea,” Percy admitted. “But I was just working with what you’d given me the first time we talked. It seemed like her and that friend of hers, Slater, were decent. The Slaters are… a bit shadier, at least in the Wizengamot.”

“They’re Conservatives, then?”

“They are, yes. Their seat isn’t overly important though. They’re not an Ancient House yet, even if they’re going to become one sometime in the next few years. Lord Slater is fairly quiet at meetings, apparently. There have been rumours for years that they’d jump ship to the Neutrals, but they never have. Not yet, anyway.”

“Well, Slater’s getting pretty close with Weitts. Her family are the leaders of the faction, right?”

“Co-leaders, yes. They lead it alongside the Greengrass family. Weitts isn’t an Ancient House either. They haven’t been in Magical Britain for long at all, actually. Lord Weitts does have an Order of Merlin First Class award though, so the family gets a few extra seats because of that.”

Ginny scrunched up her nose. The book on etiquette she had received courtesy of Charlotte had been very helpful thus far. Dry and monotonous to say the least, but helpful. Now, it appeared as if she may have to somehow get her hands on a book with some details about the Wizengamot and politics. She knew the basics, but they had never been schooled in detail. Her father didn’t even use their seat to vote. Instead, Dumbledore served as their proxy. 

“Has anybody been outright hostile towards you?” 

Ginny hesitated but when Percy’s stare intensified, she sighed. “Me and Weitts got jumped a week or so back. Thing is, I don’t know if they were after me or her. She’s… stirring things up in Slytherin, from what I can tell. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but she’s definitely ruffling some feathers.”

Percy paused. “I… have a hard time believing they’d attack Grace Weitts’s younger sister so openly. Unless she really did something to offend them.”

Ginny shrugged. “As I said, I haven’t figured it all out yet.”

Percy sighed, glancing up at the clock. “Well, I’m going to have to make an exit right about now. There’s a Prefect’s meeting I need to be at in less than twenty minutes. Just… be careful, Gin. If you need anything, you know how to get a hold of me.”

Minutes later, when Percy had exited the room, Ginny herself did likewise. She was unsure of what made her wait. Perhaps it was the fact that the classroom in which they’d occupied for all of their talks had become a sort of mental sanctuary for Ginny. It was a place away from the stress and drama of her house and the oppressive weight of their current workload. Or perhaps it was because she was just lost in thought. 

More than likely, it was a combination of the two.

She certainly was lost in thought, for when she exited the room, she didn’t even notice the figure walking up behind her. Not until she had been grabbed around the waist, hoisted into the air and slammed forcefully against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she would have slumped to the floor if not for the fact that the large, dark-haired girl’s hands were making sure that she stayed upright. 

Ginny tried to struggle, but this girl was much larger than her. She was equally as strong as she was hulking, and Ginny quickly realized that physical force was not going to be an option to get out of this situation. 

That was until the large girl tried to lift Ginny into the air and press her against the wall with her feet off the ground, thereby rendering leverage as a completely unusable tool for Ginny to escape. As she did this, however, she had to switch her attention from pinning Ginny to lifting her. Clearly, the girl had no idea how physically outmatched the smaller Slytherin was. If she had, she certainly would not have given up her advantageous position in order to gain an extra edge when doing so was wholly unnecessary.

But Ginny wasn’t complaining.

As soon as the girl’s hands were occupied, Ginny lashed out. She didn’t even make an attempt to throw a punch or any such nonsense. Instead, she jabbed each of her pointer fingers hard into the tall girl’s eyes.

Immediately, she reared back, raising her hands to her face as she tried to regain her bearings. After a moment, she fumbled for her wand, but Ginny was faster.

“Mucum Disrumpat!”

Internally, Ginny thanked Charlotte for mentioning all those weeks ago that she should research jinxes, hexes and curses. Though her arsenal was still extremely limited, she had taken a liking to this one and proven to be rather adept at it. And now, it was coming in big.

After all, it was only natural to instantly flee when bats began to fly out of your nose and start forcefully bombarding you. To say that it was an unpleasant experience was doing the whole thing a serious injustice.

Nonetheless, within seconds, Ginny found herself in what she believed to be an empty corridor.

“You alright, Weasley?”

Ginny jumped. Obviously, the corridor was not as empty as she had thought. Leaning on the wall opposite her, looking completely at ease while twirling a dark wand through her fingers was Charlotte Weitts.

“W-Weitts?”

“I thought that much was obvious.”

Ginny spluttered. “I… where… how… why didn’t you…” Ginny was about to ask why Charlotte hadn’t helped her. Then she remembered that for all of the kindness the youngest scion of House Weitts had shown her, they weren’t truly friends.

“I only just stumbled into this corridor,” Charlotte answered easily. “I’d just finished eating and was on my way to the library to do some extra studying. I heard some scuffling, a thud, and then decided I’d follow the sounds. When I saw that Bulstrode was attacking you, I took out my wand to curse her.” Charlotte held it up as if displaying the point. “By the time I had it out, you had the situation under control.” she shrugged. “Nice wand work, by the way. I wasn’t sure if you would actually take my advice seriously or not.”

“You-you were going to help me?”

Charlotte raised a delicate brow. “Is it that surprising to you?”

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it to be offensive or anything. I just… didn’t think you cared.”

Charlotte studied Ginny for a long period of time. Ginny actually shivered. Those bluish-silver eyes of hers were equal parts enchanting and intimidating. There was an ever-present glow in those eyes, as if something powerful and calculating was perpetually shining behind them. 

After a time, Charlotte held out her hand, taking Ginny by surprise. “I guess I never did approach you. Charlotte Weitts, youngest daughter of House Weitts. It’s nice to finally meet you formally, Ginny. I was wondering if you’d like to join Laine and I in the library?”

Thankfully, Ginny managed to pick her jaw up off the floor for long enough to shakily take Charlotte’s outstretched hand and reply with her own sentiment.

_**Meanwhile, in Rita Skeeter’s office at the headquarters of the Daily Prophet…** _

Rita was more than mildly annoyed when her office door banged open suddenly, jolting her from her work. People did not just barge into her office. Not in the past number of years, at least. Scowling, she looked up to see exactly who may have done such a thing and paused at the man in front of her. He was unimportant, but he often carried messages from those of more importance than himself.

“Mr. Cuffe has a message for you, Ms. Skeeter,” the man said politely, levitating a sealed roll of parchment onto her desk before taking his leave. 

With worry and apprehension, Rita opened the roll of parchment and her eyes narrowed. In light of the rather panicking news this week had presented, she had suspected an invitation to meet with her old friend to discuss potential countermeasures. Instead, the only mention of the week’s drama was a bit at the end that it was best if the two of them kept their distance. In his own words, there was no need to perpetuate the rumours that were inevitably going to leak sometime soon.

The true contents of the letter were far more interesting and less disturbing. 

For the better part of two months, the _Prophet_ had been hoping to score an exclusive, one-on-one interview with a high-up within the ranks of the Conservative faction. The reason for this desire was so that they could get an honest, no questions off limit take on the Muggle Protection Act. Now, more than ever, after the turbulent Wizengamot meeting that had transpired days earlier, old Barney was sure that the Prophet would be a top-seller.

Despite that desire, Rita had been fairly sure that no Conservative would agree to the meeting. If they did, what they said could potentially be used against them at a later date by the Liberals. Potentially, they could ascertain which counterpoints the Conservatives would be bringing forth in their ongoing attempts to make amendments to the bill. 

But to her surprise, Rita would be meeting a Conservative representative on Sunday night at Summer Isles. Knowing the caution and composure the representative would likely bring, Rita thought that this was going to be quite a dull interview.

That’s what her mind was telling her, at least.

Contrary to her mind, her instincts tingled. Something about this meeting was going to be anything but ordinary; Rita could practically sense it.

_**Two hours later, back at Hogwarts…** _

Ginny, Laine and Charlotte left the library after several hours of study. Charlotte was researching Transfiguration theory which was frankly beyond Ginny while the other two did homework. Charlotte had been tutored in magic for several years, so Ginny didn’t take it too poorly when she realized just how far ahead of her the other girl was.

She was just in disbelief that she was there at all.

How was it that somehow, the youngest, least important member of a blood traitor family which was insignificant in comparison to the houses of Weitts and Slater managed to find herself in this position? She had certainly never dreamed of being even reluctantly included in a group like this. She could tell that Charlotte and Laine were a bit guarded around her, not quite welcoming her with open arms as of yet, but it was a massive step in the right direction.

Perhaps it would even keep Millicent Bulstrode and those like her away. Perhaps Evelyn Travers, as well. The girl seemed more than a little bit wary of Charlotte, so if nothing else, that would probably serve to aid Ginny going forward. Not that she could blame Travers, frankly. Charlotte had an intimidating air about her. Ginny wasn’t afraid of her, per se, but she was certainly wary.

As for Laine, she walked to Charlotte’s right, who stood in the middle, wondering how all of this had transpired and mentally readying her list of questions that she would ask Charlotte as soon as they wound up alone together.

And speaking of Charlotte, her mind was racing at a million miles an hour, connecting all the dots related to the drama of the year and seeing dozens of possible outcomes. 

She had suspicions, but as of yet, she had no way of confirming them. For that, she would need to speak with some friends, something she immediately made her top priority as the three Slytherin first years entered the common room. Without hesitating, Charlotte led her two friends over towards Harry, Blaise, Tracey and… Parkinson. That one was new. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Harry hadn’t been in the common room much at all in the past week. Not much at all since he had been attacked after Quidditch practice, actually.

Either way, this was the first time Charlotte had seen Parkinson sitting with the group. In response to the fact, she allowed her eyes to do a quick sweep of the common room, trying to find and identify Malfoy. It would be interesting to see his response to losing Pansy to Harry and his group of friends. Of course, Charlotte was well aware that Pansy had made the right decision. Even saying that, she was still curious about how the choice had come to be.

“Evening,” Charlotte greeted as the three of them took seats. Harry tensed minutely, so lost in whatever project he had been working on that he had evidently failed to notice their arrival. The eyes of each second year roamed towards Ginny almost at once, some more discreetly than others. Tracey was the most obvious about it, followed by Pansy, who didn’t look much like she was trying to hide it. Harry, Blaise and Daphne did so with a degree of swiftness and discreteness so high that Charlotte would not have noticed had she not been able to hear the curiosity resonating within them and having watched for it as a result of the fact.

“Evening,” Harry muttered distractedly, flicking his eyes up towards Ginny one final time before he let them fall back on the mountain of papers in front of him.

“How was studying?” Daphne asked Charlotte, having inquired as to where she had been heading earlier that night.

“It went well, I think. I’m trying to work on Transfiguration. I’m easily the best in my year at Charms, but Black is just as good with Transfiguration, if not better.”

Laine sniffed. “You can’t be the best at everything, Charlotte.”

“Tell him that,” Daphne muttered, gesturing vaguely in Harry’s direction. For his part, the raven-haired youth didn’t even react to the comment.

“He wasn’t top in Astronomy or History,” Blaise said reasonably, as if that debunked Daphne’s entire point.

“Only because he didn’t care about one and didn’t show up to the other,” Daphne pointed out.

“Still don’t,” Harry said distractedly as his quill continued to scratch away on the parchment.

“But you’ll still get O’s in them,” Tracey pointed out.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Hopefully.”

Charlotte sniffed with a purposefully exaggerated amount of haughtiness. “He’s not the best at everything, Daphne.”

Daphne just raised an eyebrow as if in a challenge. Charlotte just smiled slightly back, like one would do if they were subtly letting their friend in on a dark secret. Harry’s eyes flicked up towards Charlotte’s and she swore she could see annoyance there. Clearly, he had ascertained that she had been referring to the Mind Arts. Briefly, Charlotte contemplated brushing his mind with Legilimency, but seeing as they were actually friends now, it might have been considered marginally immoral to do so.

“Look,” Charlotte said with a smirk, “he’s alive.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “There were better ways you could have got my attention, you know. I would have stopped working if you’d just asked.”

Charlotte continued to maintain her sweet, trademark smile. “Maybe, but what fun would that have been?” When Harry just rolled his eyes for a second time, Charlotte asked, “What is it you’re working on, anyway?”

“Runes,” Harry answered simply. “I’m trying to test how far I’ve actually come with the subject. There’s… some specific stuff I’d like to do with them, and I’m trying to work it out. It’s still a bit above my level, I think.”

Charlotte nodded, deciding to humour Harry, who obviously wished for her to get to the point. “What do you all know about Millicent Bulstrode?” Beside her, Charlotte could feel Ginny tense. The youngest Weasley had still not said so much as a word, and Charlotte could tell the fact that she was bringing up Milicent to the older students after their altercation made her intensely uncomfortable. Charlotte briefly gave Ginny’s knee a reassuring squeeze as she awaited the answers of the others.

Harry shrugged. “No idea why you wanted me for this. I literally know nothing except for her name, what she looks like and the fact that her family is one of the Sacred Twenty Eight and are part of the Conservative faction.”

“I’m getting to that,” Charlotte assured him, waving her hand dismissively as she glanced at Daphne.

The Greengrass Heiress shrugged. “Not much myself, actually.”

“I know a bit,” Pansy offered in a neutral tone, speaking up for the first time. When all of their eyes were trained upon her, she seemed to swell, as if bolstered by their attention. “She’s sort of in no man’s land with Lillian Moon. Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle make up one group from our year, while we obviously make up the other main group. Lillian and Milicent kind of rest in the middle. She’s sat with us at meals before while I still hung around with Draco, but not often. She’s quiet and mainly talks to Theodore when sitting with them. 

“I think she would like to join up with that group, but she’s too shy to say that and Draco doesn’t care enough about her to bring her in.” When all of the faces around her were showing varying degrees of surprise, Pansy suddenly looked indignant as she took her turn to roll her eyes. “No need to look so surprised. I’m not just a pretty face, I’ll have you know.” 

Blaise’s mouth twitched in a manner that made it very obvious he wanted to say something. Charlotte caught Harry looking at Blaise out of the corner of his eye, and the son of the Italian House of Zabini said nothing. Harry could tell that whatever reason Charlotte had for bringing this up, she at least deemed it to be serious.

“That’s all very interesting,” Daphne said carefully, “but why do you want to know about Millicent Bulstrode?”

Charlotte paused, seeming to choose her next words with a high degree of caution. “There was an incident with her earlier today. It was dealt with, but I think she might be involved in… other incidents.” Charlotte could practically sense the rise in curiosity from all of them, but Harry in particular. Despite that, his face did not change. “I just wanted to figure a bit more out, you know. See if I was just being paranoid, or if there’s anything to be worrying about.”

“And which one is it?” Harry asked softly, his eyes focusing completely on Charlotte for the first time during the conversation.

“I’m… not sure yet,” she lied. In reality, she was fairly certain that Bulstrode was working for others. It made no sense why she would risk herself as an outcast to go after Ginny otherwise.

The problem was, who and why?

Before Charlotte could ponder on that for too much longer, an air of tension settled upon the group. The reasoning for this made itself evident moments later when a small cluster of students moved towards them. Charlotte quickly recognized the one in the lead by his platinum blond hair, cold grey eyes and pale, pointed face. Behind the Malfoy Heir trailed Theodore Nott, Ares Black and Benedict Cuffe, as well as Crabbe and Goyle.

“Excuse me,” Draco said with what was obviously forced politeness, “but I think you should let Pansy up.”

Finally, Harry’s attention was completely torn away from his work as he met Malfoy’sgaze. Charlotte could practically feel the intensity oozing from her friend’s every word.

“We’re not keeping her here. She’s free to leave at any time.”

Perplexed, Malfoy looked from Harry to Pansy expectantly. When Pansy just raised an eyebrow at the blond, he quickly paled before flushing a shade of red that any of the Weasley contingent would likely have been proud of.

“You… you two-faced bitch!”

A hush fell over those in hearing range as Malfoy uttered the slur. Pansy’s eyes widened and several of the girls looked stunned. As for Harry, his wand was in his hand in an instant as he shot to his feet, stepping forward and getting right in Malfoy’s personal space. The blond may have been the taller of the two by several inches, but the air of danger that seemed to cling to Harry was more than enough to compensate for it. Charlotte saw Theodore hesitate as if to draw his wand, but Black’s hand closed around his wrist, preventing that action.

“I told you in the changing rooms that was your last warning, Malfoy. This time, I mean it. This is your real last warning! Next time you insult one of my friends or throw out bigoted slurs, I’m going to completely and utterly ruin you.”

For a moment, Draco looked as if he may respond. When he saw the look in Harry’s eyes, he clearly thought better of it. As he took a step back, Harry stepped with him, keeping his wand firmly pressed against his throat. By now, the attention of the entire common room was on the two of them and Charlotte realized with some satisfaction that most of Slytherin House were about to watch Malfoy run from Harry with his tail tucked between his legs.

“Go!” Harry snarled, shoving Malfoy forcefully backwards, sending him bumping into Crabbe and Goyle, who had stood there, stunned as they watched the whole exchange.

Again, Theodore Nott looked murderous, but he was dragged out of the common room by the rest, who saw that retreating was their only option.

Harry scowled, quickly packing his things into his bag. “I’ll be back,” he muttered. “I need a walk. I’ll never finish anything now.”

“Harry!” Tracey called. “Curfew is about to-“

“I’ll be fine, Tracey. Don’t worry, when have I ever been caught?”

All in all, Charlotte thought as her magnetic eyes watched Harry leave the common room that she would summarize the night as one of very high intrigue.

__**October 11, 1992**  
Summer Isles in Diagon Alley  
8:00 PM 

Everything Rita had thought in regards to punctuality before she met with Daniel Shafiq was applicable once more tonight. She would have loved to try to portray herself in the position of power by showing up late, but again, she knew it was not an option.

For one thing, she was not here on a personal level, but under the employ of the _Daily Prophet_. For another, no matter how much she wished it was the case, she was not the one with the power in this situation.

Rita hadn’t been told who it was she would be meeting. That was expected and a fairly typical move in the political arena. Rita did not need to know who she was meeting to know that she would be the lesser power in the room. Whoever the Conservatives were sending as a representative, it would be somebody high up in their ranks. Given the vast number of prestigious families whose allegiance lay firmly within the folds of that particular faction, that was enough for Rita to make a correct assumption on the matter.

Building on that point, there was also the small issue that several members of the faction had rather questionable morals. Some of them had extremely murky pasts. Some dark reputations may have been unwarranted. Others, Rita suspected to be understated. Others still, she knew to be fabricated completely. 

Moral of the story — it would be a very bad idea for Rita to piss off whoever she was meeting at Summer Isles.

As she neared the room reserved for them right on time, Rita only had two hopes for this interview that, by all estimations, was likely set to be profoundly dry.

The first of them was that whoever was meeting her wasn’t a prick and didn’t make her wait for thirty minutes just to flex their muscles and flash their prestige.

The second was that whomever they had sent, it was not one of the few people who she knew to be outright upset with her at the moment. Though she had to admit as she stepped towards the door that would lead her into the room, that would be a rather clever scheme…

And a rather clever scheme it was.

When Rita was led into the room by their well-dressed waiter, she had a moment of pause when she saw the scene laid out before her.

To her surprise, she was not the first to arrive. 

To her dismay, the person who had arrived before her was somebody who was undoubtedly not pleased with her, to put it kindly.

“Good evening, Ms. Skeeter,” Lord Lucius Malfoy greeted her with a perfect air of politeness as he stood gracefully from his chair to greet her further and more formally. Rita, rather tense given the fact that by now, she suspected the worst, allowed herself to be led through the motions and eventually into her chair. Before she knew it, the waiter had taken their respective orders and left them alone.

“Allow me to clear the air, Ms. Skeeter,” Lucius said promptly, noticing exactly the way her eyes anxiously darted around the room. “I am not pleased with you, nor the slander of my family at your hands. But tonight, I am here on business. A true businessman is always able to put their personal prejudices aside in favour of more productive actions. You have nothing to worry about. Not when business is ongoing.”

Rita looked hard for a lie but couldn’t spot one. Of course, she was not foolish enough to believe one might not exist. She was rather perceptive, but if there were any in Magical Britain with the ability to fool her, the political mastermind known as Lucius Malfoy might well have sat right atop the list. For now, however, she had little choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m glad, Lord Malfoy,” Rita said with a smile. “After all, you of all people should know that my articles don’t always reflect my views. It’s all about perception, as you very well know.”

For an infinitesimally small amount of time, Rita could have sworn she saw something predatory in Lucius’s cold grey eyes. It happened so fast that by the time it had seemingly passed, Rita was certain her paranoia was acting up again.

“Of course, Rita, I know you very well.” He paused. “It isn’t too forward of me to address you as Rita, I hope?”

“Not at all, Lord Malfoy.”

“Excellent.”

Rita noticed how he did not offer her the courtesy in return. Despite his seemingly civil demeanour, it was very obvious that the power dynamic which Rita had pondered was being established with pinpoint precision on the man’s part.

Speaking of Lucius, he leaned forward slightly and folded his hands in his lap in what Rita thought was a rather dignified pose. “Well, we are here on business, which waits for no witch or wizard. Time is money, Rita. I’m told you’re here to ask me some questions. I’m here to answer them; so ask away.”

“Well, of course, we’re here to speak on the Muggle Protection Act. The Conservatives have been very vocal in their opposition to this act. What is it in particular that you as a faction find unacceptable? Is it the act itself? Its implications? The idea of protecting muggles?”

“In the context which is important, it’s none of the above,” Lucius answered smoothly. “I’ll never claim to be an advocate of muggle rights, but I don’t make it my life’s mission to sabotage their lives either. For those who have… doubts on that front, you’re more than welcome to look into the dozen or so public records that pertain to attempted raids on my family home. Of course, Arthur Weasley and the HIT wizards found nothing, because there is nothing to hide.

“Truly, that is our point, Rita. We have no doubt that the goal of the Liberal faction with this act was… admirable, but the execution was sloppy and mishandled. The act was written by Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Naturally, Arthur could have only gained from these arrangements. I do believe he gets paid bonuses for major successes. Raiding a family’s home to find artifacts in violation of a major bill of law would certainly qualify. It is this and… other, deeper reasons that we believe he made sure to write several loopholes in his bill.”

“What loopholes, Lord Malfoy?”

“For one, the criteria on who can and cannot be searched is nonexistent. The vague criteria which are given contradict itself. This effectively allows Arthur Weasley, in his position over the department responsible for the maintenance of this new law, the ability to search wherever he pleases whenever he chooses. We feel that the bill unjustly violates the rights of the fine citizens of this wonderful nation. Furthermore, we believe it to be a blatant abuse of power on Arthur Weasley’s part.” Lucius’s lip curled. “Of course, that is saying nothing of the loopholes in place to protect him. The loopholes which allow you to illegally enchant muggle artifacts. Like cars, for instance.”

The interview went on as their food arrived. Its pace slowed down as they ate their meal, but it continued nonetheless. Despite her previous anxiety, all nerves were gone now. The troubles of the past week had been all but forgotten for Rita. This was a safe place for her. Conducting this kind of business was second nature to her by now, and she had room for no other thoughts in her mind. 

When they had finished their respective meals, the interview proceeded for about ten minutes before finally wrapping up. Before they could depart, the waiter entered once more, carrying what appeared to be two covered plates. They seemed to be very large, evidently heaping with whatever dessert was underneath. The waiter quietly set both of them down on the table and left the room once again, leaving Lucius and Rita alone in the room with the two plates and their heavy, wrought silver coverings.

Rita had no idea how dessert coverings could be ominous, but these managed it.

“Care to do the honours, Rita?” Lucius asked, gesturing towards the plate nearest to her. “My treat, of course. The business may have been concluded, but I see no reason to waste.” Rita reached forward and removed the oddly heavy covering.

Only to gasp at what was underneath.

Instead of any dessert, Rita pulled the large covering off to reveal a large, golden plate. What rested atop the plate was what was odd, however. 

The odd, intricately carved basin was impossible to miss. 

Rita stared open-mouthed from Lucius to the pensieve, as the man leaned forward, the predatory gleam in his eyes now more than obvious. 

Rita’s paranoia had been right to flare up. 

This had been a trap all along. She had never imagined anything at all.

“Don’t leave, Rita,” Lucius hissed in a soft, dangerous tone of voice. “I think you are going to want to hear what I say before you leave. Otherwise, I don’t think you will like what happens.”

“L-Lord Malfoy,” Rita stuttered, “what-what is the meaning of this?”

“I was nothing but honest with you, Rita. I told you that while business was ongoing, you had nothing to fear. Unfortunately for you, the business has concluded.”

Lucius’s smile only grew smugger as he slipped his wand from his sleeve and gently prodded the surface of the silvery substance that swam within the confines of the basin. 

Immediately, an image rose to the surface, one that made Rita’s eyes widen with shock, confusion and terror.

Rita’s gasp was audible as two figures rose from the pensieve. 

The first was John Doe, who had been found deceased just outside his home in Knockturn Alley just over a week ago. As of yet, his cause of death was unconfirmed. The paper had only run a brief article on his passing. It had been more of a memorial piece as opposed to gossip, so naturally, Rita hadn’t written it.

The only thing that surprised Rita more than seeing the now dead John Doe was seeing the other figure.

Herself.

Which made absolutely no sense. 

She had never met John Doe in Knockturn Alley. Of that, she was certain.

“Rita?” the figure of John Doe asked, clearly surprised.

“Good evening, John,” the other figure which looked so much like Rita but couldn’t be Rita answered. Her voice was spine-tinglingly neutral. One might even go as far as to categorize its tones as clinical.

“What brings you to Knockturn Alley, Rita. For some reason, I didn’t peg you for the type?”

“Just taking care of business, John,” the had-to-be imposter purred with a smile so predatory it put Lucius’s rendition to shame. Then, to Rita’s shock and horror, her doppelganger had a wand trained on John Doe. 

And to her even greater horror, the next two words to leave her mouth rendered the true Rita Skeeter completely and utterly speechless.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The pair sat in complete silence for more than two minutes as Lucius watched Rita like a cat might watch a dying mouse. For her part, half of Rita’s mind was trying to figure out what had just happened and how to respond. The other half of her was trying to decide whether or not she was having a heart attack, as the organ in question seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to free itself of its prison.

“I… but… I never… what… how… you can’t prove-“

“The ‘how’ is quite easy, Rita. Expensive, but easy. You see, I could not have my family name be slandered. It was very costly, you know. It caused any stock I was associated with to drop quite dramatically and it was an unacceptable blight on the Malfoy family name. Now, perhaps, I may have let this slide. Unfortunately, I recognize the power of the media more than most. I truly appreciate the damage a talented reporter can do. So, I decided that having one who was rogue was a risk I could not take.

“I employed a lowlife thief whom I have worked with before to watch you. He did an admittedly stellar job at tailing you and observing your patterns. You’re rather conspicuous, Rita. There wasn’t a whole lot to work with.” He paused. “Except for one thing, of course, but we will circle back to that in time.

“Unfortunately, you were too clever to alert the thief as to any blatant wrongdoings on your part. That would not be due, would it? A suspicious sense of paranoia is hardly something that you would fear if used against you. So, the thief concocted a plan to artificially create a situation that would land you in a great deal of trouble. His proposal was good, if expensive. After all, Polyjuice potion does not come cheap. I modified his plan. Firstly because if he had been your date at Summer Isles as he had planned, this whole thing would have gone up in flames. Secondly, because I have connections who were willing to do more than petty crimes while wearing your skin. From there, it was only a matter of getting your hair. 

“With how dry the news has been lately, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist a good scoop. Daniel Shafiq is an old friend of mine, and we agreed that a business transaction between the two of us could be mutually beneficial. I confess I expected better from you, Rita. According to Daniel, you didn’t so much as react as he ripped the hair from your head.” 

Lucius was definitely smirking now as Rita paled further. “This-this isn’t proof!” Rita argued. “I didn’t do it! Priori Incantatem will show as much!”

“Indeed it would, if your wand was tested soon after. You forget, Rita, that Prior Incantato only reveals spells cast in the past number of hours. Though I could manufacture documents from abroad which show that you purchased a second wand days before this incident occurred. A wand that has been conveniently discarded for reasons that I hope for your sake are obvious.” 

Rita paled even further as she clapped her hand over her heart. 

This was it.

If this memory played in court and Lucius’s paperwork stood up to the test, she would go to Azkaban for life.

“What’s the matter, Rita? You’re looking rather faint. Was the first encore not to your liking? How about the second of our delectable desserts?” 

With a flourish, Lucius removed the second covering and Rita gasped, rocking back in her chair as if she were about to faint.

“It looks familiar, doesn’t it?” Lucius purred, lifting the small, black journal from off of the golden plate. “A clever way to communicate. Very discrete, too.” His smirk widened. “But then again, I’d be discrete in your position as well. Especially while writing to my bastard son.”

Rita was hyperventilating now as panic wracked her body and her whole world came crashing down around her. 

Not only had she just been framed for murder, but her biggest, most damning secret had been uncovered after eleven long years.

“Again, childishly easy to work out,” Lucius retold clinically. “You see, my acquaintance noticed that you spent quite a lot of time at the Cuffe residence. An unusual amount of time, even considering that Lord Cuffe is your superior. So naturally, I was curious. I had Draco befriend Benedict in hopes that he would be able to uncover something interesting. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that with the help of some first years spying for him and some older students who were more than happy to lend a hand, he would uncover this.

“A journal between yourself and the youngest son of House Cuffe. A journal dating back several years. But the most mind-boggling thing of all was how young Benedict seems to always refer to you as ‘mother’. How strange, when one considers that at the time of Benedict’s birth, Barnabus Cuffe was married. Even more peculiar, when one considers that allegedly, the boy’s mother died during childbirth.”

Lucius leaned even further forward, locking eyes with Rita with a startling amount of intensity. “Here is my ultimatum. From now on, as far as the public is concerned, your boss is Barnabus Cuffe, editor and majority stakeholder of the Daily Prophet. But as far as reality is concerned, you work for me.” 

With genuine tears rolling down her pale cheeks, Rita nodded. “And secondly, you will tell me at once exactly how Benedict Cuffe came to be, as well as exactly how his supposed mother died.”

“It-it-“

“Speak up, Rita. I can’t hear you. I know it’s hard, but for your son’s sake, I would answer promptly and clearly.”

“I was young and stupid!” Rita wailed. “I was pushing through the war, trying to write article after article but nothing was helping. I wasn’t getting recognized and I was lost in the shuffle.” She paused, taking deep, rattling breaths as she tried to suppress the involuntary sobs that threatened to wrack her body. “I saw the way that Barnabus looked at the younger women. I… saw it as my best chance to get to the top. My best chance to be put in the best position. It… was never meant to be serious, but… it escalated.”

“I see,” Lucius said softly. “And how, Rita, did the false mother truly die?”

“We-we panicked. When I was p-p-pregnant, w-w-we were so worried that somebody would find out what had happened. Y-you know what that would mean.”

“Cheating on one’s sworn spouse is one of the lowest things a witch or wizard can do. In terms of public perception, it is on par with being disowned from your given family.”

Rita nodded as sobs wracked her body. She took a moment to compose herself and do her best to calm as Lucius watched on coldly and without emotions. Finally, after a time, the reporter was speaking again. 

“We were-were so s-s-scared! If they found out… if anyone found out. B-B-Barney had the idea to h-have the baby abroad, to set it up as a vacation.” Rita took a long, rattling breath. “His wife never died giving childbirth. She died before we left. I… had the couple over at my home. To d-d-discuss a possible p-p-promotion. I p-p-put aconite in her drink.”

“And the foreign nation in which you gave birth knew nothing of either of you. So naturally, they accepted your given names without complaint?”

With a soft wail of emotion, Rita nodded despite herself, allowing her head to sag onto the table in front of her.

As she did so, Lucius pushed back his chair, stood to his feet and summoned the pensieve to his grasp once more. “I shall endeavour to purchase you a new book out of pity,” Lucius told Skeeter in a terribly smug tone of voice as he snatched the one on the table up and stowed it away in his robes. “I would advise you to purchase your son a trunk that is warded far better than the one he has now.” Rita’s sobs grew louder. “I must be off, Rita,” Lucius said cheerfully, his lips curving up into a smirk. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you and I look forward to a long, pleasant working relationship between us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, this is going to go over very well, or very poorly. There will be no in between. This is probably the most nervous I have been for a chapter to go live, as this was quite an out there idea, even if I am happy with how it turned out.**
> 
> **I have said this on my Discord server, but I will say it here on site since I can see questions about this arising:**
> 
> **Pensive memories are technically admissible in a court of law within the AoCverse. Oaths and Veritaserum are not. Oaths have already sort of been explained (See the chapter “Morbid Thoughts” in which Peter explains oaths to Charlus) and Veritaserum, without spoiling too much, is similar in many ways.**
> 
> **Now, pensieve memories can only be used in court for major offenses. A major offence is categorized as anything that, if proven true, would land the accused a sentence of at least five years in Azkaban. It should be noted that there are a few exceptions in which pensieves can be used for lesser cases, but that is a complex matter we don’t need to get into yet. Just know it will be important in the first chapter of year 3.**
> 
> **Even for major cases, pensieves are not always used. There is a process one must go through to use a pensive in court, and it’s one that not everybody can fulfill, so… Oh and also, a pensieve can only be used if the accusations levelled against the accused are deemed plausible by the Wizengamot.**
> 
> **The reason I’m limiting pensieves is to close plot holes. If they can be used for any small accusation, then this is going to turn into a mess very quickly. For instance, if these limitations weren’t in place, Rita could accuse Lucius of blackmailing her and all the rest.**
> 
> **Problem is, with no evidence whatsoever, her case would be very weak, so she would never even get to the stage where a pensieve becomes an option.**
> 
> **Just thought I’d clear that up to hopefully limit confusion.**
> 
> **The next chapter will take them up to Samhain, so we’re finally moving along again. Granted, it is a very long chapter, (17k), so there is that.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 19th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord editors for their assistance this week:**
> 
> **Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	15. The Gods of Irony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
> **If you enjoy this story and would like to support me directly, I now have a P A T R E O N page! You are by no means obligated to support me, but for those generous enough to do so, you will be receiving Patron exclusive benefits!**
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_**October 15, 1992  
The Gryffindor Changing Rooms  
7:41 PM** _

Fred and George Weasley exited the Gryffindor changing rooms side by side, their Cleansweeps slung over their shoulders and their damp red hair tousled. The two of them were clearly running on high energy, discussing some rather hilarious prank ideas for the Halloween feast. This was not out of the ordinary, but the general absurdity and hyperbole on display in their brainstorming sessions were both exacerbated by the energy and adrenaline that accompanied the conclusion of a well-played, lively practice that left the team’s morale unanimously high.

As the two of them began to make their way up towards Hogwarts castle, neither of them noticed the slightest shimmer as the youngest member of the house team shifted under his invisibility cloak, revealing part of his hand for only the briefest of moments. 

Silently, Charlus Potter began to follow the twins back up towards the castle. 

If they were on this kind of roll talking about pranks, it was highly possible that the two of them would let something slip in regards to the prank they’d more than likely pulled on the Slytherin Quidditch team. One of whose members just happened to be Charlus’s twin.

If the two of them were going to reveal anything about that entirely over-the-top fiasco, he wanted to be there to hear every last word of it.

_**October 17, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:37 AM** _

Harry quietly slid his most recent bit of mail into his school bag about halfway into that Saturday’s breakfast. This morning, he was sitting with Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, Pansy, Laine, Ginny and Charlotte. His older acquaintances were not overly fond of the idea of getting up early to venture out to the Great Hall. Neither was Pansy, for that matter, but she was there nonetheless

“Anything interesting?” Blaise asked conversationally, bobbing his head towards the school bag which Harry was sliding back under the table.

“Invitation for the Weitts’s Samhain gala,” Harry answered, shooting a quick glance in Charlotte’s general direction. She nodded curtly, offering him a brief smile between bites of an egg. “Give your parents my thanks,” he requested, eliciting another nod in return since her mouth was currently full.

“Hopefully nobody gets bitten by a snake this time,” Daphne muttered under her breath, casting her eyes around the hall. 

Harry had always wondered how much of that incident Daphne had pieced together. He had always suspected that the answer was something akin to “not much”. After all, during the setup of his Samhain escapades, she had been politicking on the floor for her family. Well, perhaps politicking was not the most accurate term when discussing an eleven-year-old. Perhaps more accurate terminology would be to say that she was acquainting and reacquainting with important people who she would one day have to work with, in one capacity or another. 

The fact she also didn’t look at Harry as she spoke her desires for this year’s event could also have been telling. Then again, knowing Daphne, she probably would have looked anywhere but at Harry if verbally reflecting on things that could have implicated him in one way or another.

“I’m sure it made things interesting,” Blaise offered diplomatically. Ginny, who had been in conversation with Laine, seemed to stumble over her words as she inadvertently caught that chunk of conversation. Obviously, she was not yet accustomed to Blaise’s humour, which was akin to the Sahara Desert in the middle of July.

“You’re forgetting the fact that it was disgraceful,” Pansy said. “For one of the major social events of the year to have a scandal like that is madness!”

Harry could have sighed. More political discussions, it seemed. That had been almost all anybody in Slytherin had talked about for the past four days. 

On October 13th, the _Daily Prophet_ released an article on the Muggle Protection Act. In particular, a Conservative perspective on the matter. Partially, this was unusual because nobody had ever expected the Conservatives to speak publicly on the ongoing drama surrounding said bill outside of Wizengamot meetings. Even more so, the article was surprising due to the rapid shift in tone that Skeeter had employed. Up to this point, she and the rest of the _Prophet’s_ writers had been, for the most part, complimentary of the bill. 

This article, on the other hand, was akin to slander.

Anything that could be picked out and used against the Liberals was done so ruthlessly, and much of the snake pit had been more than a little bit curious as to what had made Rita Skeeter suddenly shift her tone so drastically. It went without saying that none of them had the answer to that question.

Blaise shrugged. “Got everybody out early.”

“Your family never did find out what happened, did they?” Pansy asked Charlotte, turning away from Blaise, who she obviously realized would never agree with her no matter what point she raised. It seemed that at least Pansy was grasping the group dynamic quite quickly. Blaise shot a wink towards Harry when she looked away. On the list of Blaise’s favourite things to do, annoying prim, proper, pureblood heiresses would have been right near the top, if Harry had to guess.

“We never did, no,” Charlotte said neutrally. “Mother and Father launched an investigation, but nothing turned up. We would’ve had to cast Prior Incantato on everybody’s wands after the party to find out for sure.”

“Which you obviously didn’t do! That would’ve been a logistical nightmare!”

“Trust me, my parents considered it. We almost didn’t hold an event this year, but my mother talked father into it. There will be more… attention to detail this year.”

Luckily, Harry had no major schemes planned this year. This time around, he was simply going to attend for the experience and to potentially make allies. It would be far less stressful this way, he assumed. Granted, his plan had been successful last year. Well, except for the major injury sustained by Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That had certainly not been part of the plan. Idly, Harry wondered how the man had recovered. He’d never heard anything about him after that, though in all fairness, he had never exactly looked into the matter. 

“I’m happy your family is still holding one,” Pansy said matter-of-factly. “It would’ve been such a shame if such a major event was cancelled because of something so foolish as some idiot conjuring a snake.”

“A bit off-topic,” Harry interrupted unapologetically, observing that Charlotte had no interest in continuing this rather sensitive conversation, “but why would asking everybody to submit to Prior Incantato have been a nightmare? Aside from the time it would have taken, obviously.”

Pansy, not being aware of Harry’s situation, looked intensely surprised by his question. Charlotte, on the other hand, did not. Nor did Daphne, who swiftly entered the conversation to answer Harry’s question. 

“You can’t just force someone to submit to Prior Incantato. Wand rights aren’t something that’s talked about, but they exist. A witch or wizard’s wand is their property. You don’t have the right to take it from them. Not unless you can prove they’ve done something.” She shrugged. “Or in a duel, I guess. That’s kind of looked at as an exception since it’s your own fault. The same goes for checking wands.”

“It’s also a serious invasion of privacy,” Charlotte pointed out. “It’s the kind of thing people would throw a fit over. I don’t honestly blame them, but Father still wanted to make it mandatory. It’s a bit of a grey area since it was on our property. Technically, we probably could have done it, but it would have caused an uproar.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, even if it seemed a bit vague. Knowing the magical world the way he’d come to know it, there were probably loopholes like the duelling one written all over that law. 

Twenty-some odd minutes later, the group departed from the table. Charlotte and her year mates were all returning to the common room to finish prep while Daphne, Tracey, Blaise and Pansy were going to do likewise in the library. Harry, who had finished it the night before, was going to work on spell casting, but he had something to do first. 

Wishing his friends a fruitful session of study, Harry quickly and quietly crept through the antechamber off the Great Hall and slid through the same, secret passage he’d led Blaise, Tracey and Daphne down their first night back at Hogwarts. Less than two minutes later, he reached the end of the passage that would deposit him very near to the Slytherin common room. Focusing on his ring, Harry tried to detect any presence nearby. There were none, at the moment. That fact changed minutes later when Charlotte, Laine and Ginny’s voices could be heard.

As they drew near, Harry considered his options. What would be the best way to get Charlotte’s attention, without drawing that of the others? Eventually, he settled for trying to think as “loudly” as possible that he would like to speak with her. Whether this would actually work, he had no idea. It must have at least had a small degree of success, because Charlotte paused near where the passageway ended. A second or two later, she was telling her friends she had forgotten something back in the hall, insisting that they go on ahead. 

When they left, Charlotte cast her eyes around the seemingly empty corridor, though Harry, currently behind a tapestry depicting a scene filled with serpents couldn’t see her. “I know you’re here,” Charlotte said clearly. 

On cue, Harry slid the tapestry aside and stepped into the corridor. Charlotte’s eyebrows rose. “Out of curiosity,” Harry asked, “did you actually know it was me?”

“I kind of figured it was, but I couldn’t actually tell, no. I knew somebody was hiding somewhere even before you started to basically project your thoughts. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking at first, or anything, but I could sort of tell that there was an extra active mind nearby, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Harry answered truthfully. Though the feeling was likely different, his ring alerted him to any nearby human presence. Charlotte may have experienced something on a deeper level, but he imagined the feeling was probably similar.

“Where does that passage start, anyway? I didn’t even know that was there.”

“Most people don’t, from what I can tell. It’s behind a portrait in the antechamber off the Great Hall. One of the more useful passages I’ve found. Cuts quite a bit of time off of the walk down to the common room.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “Why do I feel like this isn’t the only passage you know of?”

“Probably because it isn’t.”

“How many others?”

He shrugged. “Enough.”

“You and your vague answers.”

“You and your constant questions.”

In spite of herself, Charlotte smiled. “You’ve got me there, I suppose.” She paused. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”

“I did, but not here. I’ll show you one of those secret passages since it will make the walk to a sort of hidden room of mine much faster.”

Minutes later, Harry had led Charlotte through the long, sloping passage behind the suit of armour at the bottom of the marble staircase that led to the room he frequented with her elder sister for practices. Almost as soon as they exited from the passage, Charlotte tensed. “What is it?” Harry asked, frowning as his ears practically perked up, trying to gain a sense of any danger they might be in.

“Wards. I have no idea what they are, but I can sense magic and I can tell that they’re wards.”

Harry blinked. “How?”

“I have many talents, Harry.”

“Is it a Legilimency thing?”

“It is, yes. It’s a subskill of Legilimency. Right now, I can only sense that there is magic and tell that it has something to do with wards. Eventually, I’ll be able to tell what kind of ward it is. Maybe not exactly, but at least the general idea of each ward.”

“There are subskills to Legilimency as well then? I’m assuming it’s a seven-tiered system like Occlumency?”

“Yes to both,” Charlotte answered as they neared the entrance of the room. When they entered, her eyes roamed over the place with intense curiosity. She eyed both the desk, comfortable chairs and training dummies with interest, as well as the magical lighting. “Did you set all of this up?”

“No, I have no idea how to conjure any of this.” He had been about to use his default line that he’d found the room like this, but he doubted he could get away with outright lying to Charlotte. She would probably be able to tell. If he kept quiet, she might not ask.

“Odd,” she commented, casting one last, final look around the room before plopping down into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs. When Harry too took his seat, Charlotte spoke first. “Is this about what you came to me over last time?”

“They might be connected, I’m not sure. But it’s nothing like that on my end, no. I still think you should consider what I said, but I can’t exactly force you to listen. If you want to take the risk, that’s your problem.” It was also his problem, but Harry didn’t get the impression that Charlotte would be pleased if she found out he was essentially watching her back on behalf of her sister. She seemed proud, so Harry kept that fact to himself. 

Charlotte looked pleased, if a bit surprised. “I have listened,” she commented. “I’ve toned it down if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have, and I’m thankful for that. I just hope you didn’t do too much damage right away. From what I can tell, Slytherin is the house of cunning, ambition and holding grudges.”

Charlotte laughed. “I seriously hope it didn’t take you a year and a month to figure that out.”

“It didn’t, I’m just sharing what I’ve observed.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Care to share any more of your wisdom, oh wise one?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Depends where this conversation goes.”

Charlotte sighed and folded her hands in her lap, peering back at him with wide, curious eyes. “You know, I’m not going to Legilimize you every time you look at me,” Charlotte pointed out, noticing that Harry was avoiding her gaze.

“You can control it now, then?”

“Almost completely, yes.”

Harry paused, trying to best work out how to say this. “I… don’t appreciate people in my head. I think we get on well, and I am happy you’re in Slytherin, but I really don’t like the idea of you being able to look into my thoughts whenever you please.”

Charlotte winced. “I guess we didn’t get off on the best foot with that, did we?”

“The first three times we met, you Legilimized me every time.”

Charlotte winced again. “I… don’t really have much regard for strangers.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I won’t Legilimize you, especially if it really bothers you. The only reason I did it in the common room earlier this year was because I was worried you were an older student who was going to jump me or something.”

“That’s a fair reason,” Harry admitted. “If it’s something like that, I won’t take it personally. But I would really appreciate it if you didn’t make a habit of doing it.”

Charlotte agreed readily but did so with a rather coy smile. “I don’t suppose I can try once every couple of months with something really light to work out whether or not you have ‘shields’?”

Harry frowned. “I was… told there were no such things as Occlumency shields.”

“There aren’t, hence the air quotes. It’s just kind of what they’re called for lack of a better term. Eventually, you’ll get so good at clearing your mind as soon as you sense a presence that your mind will sort of do it for you. That’s what I mean by ‘shields’.”

Harry nodded slowly; that was certainly good information to have. “Is there a particular reason why you’re so interested in my Occlumency progress?”

“Not really. I just like to keep informed. And since I’m kind of the one who put you onto Occlumency in the first place, I sort of feel invested.”

“I could always just tell you.”

“You could, but that way isn’t as fun.”

“Are you actually curious, or do you just need me as a test dummy?”

“I wouldn’t use my friends for practice without their permission.”

Harry decided not to comment on the implications of that statement. Partially because of their moral ambiguity, and partially because he could also see himself attempting to Legilimize strangers if he could be sure that they weren’t any sort of Occlumens.

“I’d really rather you weren’t in my head at all, to be honest.”

“Fine, if it bothers you that much, I won’t. I just find the whole thing interesting. You do realize that whoever is teaching you is going to have to be in your head at some point if they haven’t tried already, right?”

“I’ve worked with blunt probes that don’t actually glean anything aside from surface thoughts, so far.”

“Eventually, they’re going to have to actually try and pull out memories.”

Harry had to try hard not to wince or shiver, even if that fact was one he had known about for some time now. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Right,” Charlotte commented skeptically, “well, I’m guessing you didn’t drag me all the way down here to talk about Occlumency and Legilimency? If you did, don’t waste your time on the walk. I’ll happily talk about that any time; just use that privacy spell and ward of yours.”

“Sorry, I got a bit side-tracked. I haven’t looked into Legilimency yet, since I need a base in Occlumency first. But no, I didn’t ask you to come down here to talk about the Mind Arts. Last week in the common room, you asked about Millicent Bulstrode. You said there was an… incident involving her.”

“It wasn’t technically involving me,” Charlotte said carefully, but the tone of her voice indicated otherwise. Or, at least, it indicated that she was not one-hundred percent confident in that assessment.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Charlotte bit her lip. “I’m not convinced, to tell you the truth.” 

“I don’t suppose you’re going to explain what happened?” Harry asked after an unnaturally long pause.

Charlotte seemed to study him. “If I do, can you promise not to go running to my sister about it? Or Daphne; I have a feeling she’d be just as bad.”

Harry paused. “If it’s something like the dragon incident was for me last year, I can’t promise that. But I doubt it’s like that, or I’d have heard about it already.”

“It’s nothing like that, no. Just first-year drama. Aside from Bulstrode, I guess. she is in her second year.”

“Was that a yes to telling me then?”

“Was that a yes to keeping your mouth shut about it?”

“Sure, as long as you promise to at least listen to my perspective on it.”

“Harry, I brought it up in the common room literally hoping you’d give me your perspective on it.”

Harry blinked. “I… did not expect that answer.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t seem the type to go out of your way to ask for other’s opinions. You’re extremely confident, almost to the point that it seems as if you think you’re better than those around you.”

Charlotte stiffened ever so slightly. “That was… a much deeper answer than I expected.”

Harry shrugged. “Just an observation. I’m not saying it’s right, it’s just how you come across, sometimes.”

“Well, let’s clear that up right now. I don’t think I’m better than you. I’m much better than you at certain things, like the Mind Arts, and I know things about the magical world that you don’t know because of how you were raised. But you’re much better at magic than me, at least for now. That might never change, but I try to never count myself out. I doubt I’ll ever catch you in Transfiguration. Probably not in Defence, either, but maybe Charms. Either way, you’re better than me at magic and you might always be. You’re also extremely good at reading situations. I might be better at reading people because of Legilimency, but it seems like you can read a situation extremely well.

“I might come off like that sometimes, but I guess it’s just how I am. I was always taught to act confident. Even if the confidence is overdone, the trick is to get other people believing what you’re putting out. Not that I don’t believe in myself, because trust me, I do.” She paused. “I’m also… overdoing the confidence right now.”

“I thought so. Whatever you have planned, you’re putting on a mask.”

“Not really. I am an extremely confident person. Usually, it’s probably at about an eight or a nine. Right now, it’s at about eleven while in public.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me in on this plan of yours, will you?”

“Afraid not. Sorry, but it won’t work if I have help.”

Harry sighed. “Fine, have it your way. Let’s get to the topic we keep getting off of though. The Bulstrode situation.”

“Right, the Bulstrode situation. So, before that, I should probably tell you that a few weeks ago, Ginny and I were attacked by Derrick Mulciber and Alex Jugson.”

“Two of your year mates, correct?”

“They are, yes.” Harry felt a mild bit of relief that they were only first years. He doubted he would have to get involved with anything like that. And even if for some reason he did, it would serve as no threat or challenge. 

“I’m assuming nothing too drastic happened since this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Not really, no.” She grimaced as if she was about to make a rather painful admission. “I was paying too much attention to Ginny, not focusing on my surroundings or who was coming near us. I would’ve been cursed from behind, but Ginny took the spell for me. Nothing too serious, just a nasty boil hex, but still. I think it was meant as a message more than anything else. When I turned to fight back, they ran.”

“And you think this is somehow related to the Bulstrode incident?”

“I have that feeling, yeah. Bulstrode attacked Ginny, not me. For some reason, that seems off. From what Parkinson said about her, it sounds like she was pretty happy keeping to herself until right about then. Maybe she thought she could just get away with it because it was the ‘blood traitor Slytherin’ or whatever, but it still seems a bit out of character, doesn’t it?”

“It does, yeah,” Harry admitted. “If it was natural, I don’t see why she waited. She had weeks to attack Ginny before that. Now, if Ginny had done something noteworthy that might have upset her, I could buy it, but that timing seems way too convenient.” He paused. “How long was this after the first attack on the both of you, exactly?”

Charlotte shrugged. “A week, maybe? No more than two.”

Harry sat in silence for about a minute before answering. “That does seem suspicious. Anything you can tell me about the Bulstrode family politically? Aside from the obvious fact that they’re part of the Conservative faction.”

“Not really. They’re fairly quiet. They vote with the rest of their faction like is expected. Millicent’s father doesn’t speak a whole lot at meetings as far as I know.”

“So not much to go off aside from the fact that she seemed to want in on Malfoy’s group. Any connection between Malfoy and either Mulciber or Jugson?”

Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Depends on how you look at it.”

“How so?”

“How much do you know about the end of the Purity War?”

“Voldemort attacked my family and was destroyed when she tried to kill Charlus. After that, Sirius Black blew up a street, killing Marlene McKinnon and a dozen or so muggles. He confessed in court that he was my family’s secret keeper, responsible for placing a bunch of Death Eaters under the Imperius curse, and he even claimed to be Voldemort’s second-in-command.” One of these days, he was really going to have to figure out what a secret keeper actually was. All he knew was that in one sense or another, Sirius Black had betrayed his parents to Voldemort.

“There was also the torture of the Longbottoms,” Harry continued. “Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were both sentenced to life in Azkaban, leaving Bellatrix, Rudolphus’s ex-wife and the closest thing there is to a living Lestrange to manage the family.”

“And you’re familiar with the ‘Imperius Defence’ and the drama it caused?”

“Vaguely. A bunch of Death Eaters claimed to have been put under it after Black confessed to using it on a bunch of others, right?”

“Yes, but some people never bought the excuse. Some of the Jugsons were actually sent to Azkaban, but Alex’s parents got off with that defence. If they were lying, they may have a connection with the Malfoys.”

“But Black outright admitted to placing Malfoy under the curse.”

“He did, but some people think that Black just wanted to get as many of his friends out of trouble as he could before being shipped off. He was going to Azkaban for life no matter what, so what’s a few extra sentences when you’re going to die there either way?”

Harry tapped his foot rhythmically, processing all that he had just learned and connecting it back to the matter at hand. “It’s possible that the first years and Bulstrode could both be working for Malfoy. Or only the first years, and Bulstrode thought she’d attack Ginny to look good for Draco. Thing is, I don’t see a motivation on Malfoy’s end. He has no reason to want to go after you. I know the Malfoys and Weasleys don’t get along, but this started with an attack on you, not Ginny.”

“Which is what has me confused. I could see it being an older student egging them on. Maybe one who has something against my sister, but I don’t see how Bulstrode would get involved.”

“I don’t either, but it all seems too closely connected to be a coincidence.”

Charlotte nodded. “My thoughts exactly, but I thought I could use a second opinion.”

Harry smiled thinly. “Any time, Charlotte. You know where to find me, at least most of the time.”

Charlotte smiled vaguely back at him. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll keep it in mind.”

_**October 18, 1992  
The Gryffindor Changing Rooms  
7:53 PM** _

It was a soaked and exhausted Quidditch team that slunk into the changing rooms after their most brutal practice of the school year thus far. That was not to say it hadn’t been a good practice. The team had performed exceedingly well, which had become a norm as of late. In spite of that, all seven members of the team were fairly miserable after the brutality wrought upon them by the harsh conditions of the Scottish storm. Their moods improved mildly after a shower, but they weren’t exactly shining rays of sunshine, by any stretch.

Well, except for their captain, Oliver Wood.

Really, the previous statement about seven miserable players was a generalization. Six would have been more accurate. Though Wood also looked beaten, bruised and battered, he was wearing a manic smile even as he entered the changing rooms. By the time the rest of his team had exited the shower, Oliver had already showered, changed and set up camp in the portion of the changing rooms that the team used as a “war room”. In translation, it was where they discussed and went over strategy and the like. 

Frankly, none of the other team members were remotely interested in a meeting, at the moment, but Oliver promised it would be brief. According to their captain, he had an announcement to make. Apparently, he wouldn’t even touch on strategy. He had even given his word, which the Weasley twins along with the three chasers had sworn him to on threat of death.

When all of them had taken seats in “the war room”, Oliver stood before them, making hard eye contact with each player in turn before making his grand announcement. 

“Gentlemen-” 

“And ladies!” Alicia pointed out.

“And ladies,” their captain amended, “I have an announcement of the utmost importance. Earlier today, all of the captains for each of the house teams received this year’s finalized Quidditch schedule. We’re up right away; the very first game of the season. It’ll be us against the snakes on Saturday, November 7th at 9:30 AM.”

At once, the air seemed to thicken in the room as it became laced with oppressive, unyielding tension. All of the Gryffindor’s postures straightened as their eyes sharpened. All bleary eyes and lackadaisical expressions were gone now. In their places, staring resolutely back up at their captain were six, rock-hard visages of LASER-precision focus and intense determination.

“I don’t need to tell any of you how important this match is,” Oliver understated. “Last year, we should’ve had the Cup. Due to… circumstances outside of our control, we didn’t.” Charlus felt guilt well in the pit of his stomach at the reminder that at the time of Gryffindor’s final game against Ravenclaw, he had been unconscious alongside his brother in the Hospital Wing after the confrontation with Voldemort down in the catacombs.

“They have the flashy brooms, I’ll give them that,” Oliver conceded. “They also have a team full of rich, spoiled, entitled pureblood brats who have never had to earn a damn thing in their lives. They don’t have as much heart as any of us. All the money in the world can’t buy what we have. The only one on that team who might have an ounce of heart is the Slytherin Potter, and he’s fucked. He has to fly against this little prodigy in his first-ever match.” Charlus smiled, effortlessly putting on an outwardly confident expression. Internally, he was more nervous than he should have been.

Logically, he should crush his brother. Logically, Harry should have no chance of getting to the snitch before him. Logically, this should be a laughably easy match for Charlus.

But…

Logically, people were not supposed to survive the killing curse. Logically, an eleven-year-old boy shouldn’t be able to vaporize the Dark Lady by touching her. And logically, Harry should have been part of the Potter family for a decade.

All of that was to say that Charlus was slowly losing faith in logic and its bearing on the universe. It seemed that in his life, illogical conclusions seemed far more applicable in terms of making any realistic predictions as to the future.

The worst part was, because of how obvious it seemed that he would beat Harry, he would be the laughingstock of the school if he did not do just that.

Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest seeker in a century, the seeker who had never lost a match… and the idiot who lost to a guy who had only been flying for a year and who was playing in his first-ever Quidditch match.

As much as Charlus was over his petty grudge with Harry, he wasn’t sure if his ego could bear it.

He wasn’t stupid. He recognized exactly what kind of effect Harry’s victory had had on him at the Potter family gala. That would be multiplied by a several digit-long interval if Charlus lost to Harry, and by extension, Slytherin in front of the entire school.

So lost he was in thoughts and worries that he actually missed the rest of Oliver’s impassioned speech about the importance of Gryffindor’s first Quidditch match of the year.

What he did not miss, however, was the twins creeping out of the door ahead of the rest. With narrowed eyes, Charlus followed at a brisk pace. 

This time, he didn’t don the cloak. 

This time, he wanted to be seen.

For much of the last week, Charlus had tailed the Terrors of Gryffindor. He had needed to know, for his own sake, whether it had actually been the twins who’d pranked Harry and the Slytherins all those weeks ago now.

To his horror, he’d had his worst fears confirmed only days earlier. He had followed them into an alcove in which the two of them had partaken in a hushed argument. Fred wanted to pull some grandiose prank at the Halloween feast, but George was set steadfast against it. In the end, his reasoning had boiled down to the prank on the Slytherins.

They were still in hot water over that. Nobody could prove it had been them, but the school wasn’t stupid. For one thing, the twins had spent several nights in the hospital wing since the incident. All of those nights were results of rather vicious and vastly numerous bits of retaliation on the part of Slytherin House. But beyond that, the teachers were equally perceptive.

If another major prank happened and they slipped up, allowing for it to be pinned on them in any way, shape or form, they were effectively screwed.

In the end, George had thankfully won the argument, but Charlus hadn’t been overly interested in its conclusion.

He had gotten what he wanted from it, and now it was time to get more direct answers. 

Before they could draw too near to the castle, Charlus fired a low-powered stinging hex at one of the twin’s backs. He wasn’t sure which one, nor did he particularly care. The two of them had been so engrossed in whatever conversation they’d been having that they had failed altogether to notice that somebody had crept up right behind them. The twins whirled, going for their wands until they spotted who it was.

“Ickle Potter!” the two of them exclaimed in unison. When Charlus only stared pensively back at them, their faces slowly lost some of their joviality. 

“We need to talk,” Charlus said shortly, gesturing to the edge of the Forbidden Forest behind Hagrid’s hut. It was as good a spot as any to assure they were not overheard. Hell, it was the spot he and Harry had used last year when planning the final destruction of Malfoy’s elaborate plot to get Harry expelled, disowned and imprisoned.

In a surprising show of perceptiveness, both twins nodded soberly, following Charlus to his chosen destination with little drama. When the Gryffindor trio reached the edge of the forest and Charlus had cast the Muffliato charm, drawing raised eyebrows from the twins due to their ignorance in regards to said spell, Charlus finally spoke.

“I want to hear it from you two; what happened the night you pranked the Slytherin Quidditch team?”

To Charlus’s great annoyance, the two of them immediately looked indignant, actually going as far as to posture, as if they were about to put in some great defence of themselves. “Don’t bother,” Charlus cut in forcefully, “I heard you two admit to it while hiding behind a tapestry on the fifth floor a few days back.” 

The twins both looked taken aback. A moment later, however, their eyes narrowed. “You can’t have,” George said carefully, as if trying to deduce how on earth that was possible.

Charlus rolled his eyes. “You guys do realize that your knowledge of the castle is useless if somebody is following you, right?”

“But that’s the thing, ickle Potter,” Fred put in. “You can’t have been following us.”

“Like, it literally shouldn’t be possible,” George added.

Charlus’s eyes narrowed. “I was invisible, you idiots.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” Fred answered at once.

“It might,” George mused thoughtfully. “Does it show invisible people? We’ve never known somebody who can be invisible, so maybe it doesn’t?”

“But how would that work magically?”

“To hell if I know. We’ve been trying to figure the damn thing out for more than a year and still haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“True, true.”

As if they had both come to a startling realization at the exact same moment in time, both twins levelled intensely curious, intensely suspicious stares upon their seeker. “How the hell were you invisible?” they asked as one.

Charlus looked rather uncomfortable with that question. He had not planned for the issue of his cloak to come up. Right about now, he was seriously regretting that slip-up, small as it may have seemed at the time. “Cloak,” he muttered, “used to be Dad’s, but he gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts.”

“An actual invisibility cloak?” Fred breathed in awe.

“Can we see it?” George asked hopefully.

“Some other time, maybe,” Charlus deflected. “Now, answer my question. I heard the two of you arguing over whether or not to pull some sort of massive prank on Halloween. When George brought up how bad of an idea that would have been after the prank on the Quidditch team, the two of you scratched those plans.”

As annoyed as the twins looked, they were clearly equal parts impressed. Still, they looked intensely uncomfortable, as if this was the last place on Earth they would choose to be at that moment in time. A more accurate summary would be that they would wish to be having any other conversation right about now.

“We bottled it,” Fred said bluntly, deciding to rip the bandage off as quickly as one could.

Charlus’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘bottled it’?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be that bad,” George answered, sounding as if he was pleading for Charlus to believe him. 

Charlus frowned. “So you didn’t mean for them to grow scales?”

Once more, both twins looked extremely uneasy. “Um… we did, yeah,” Fred said lamely. “We… didn’t really think that part through.”

“How the hell do you not think that part through?”

“Well, after the whole incident with the brooms, the cursing and our dear brother’s backfiring wand, we decided to get the bastards back. We literally have rolls and rolls of parchment full of scrapped ideas on how to do it. When we came up with the scales, we thought it was perfect, you know? Slimy, snaky Slytherins and all that.”

“We were so stoked on the idea,” Fred picked up, ‘that we didn’t really think it through. We saw it and were like ‘yup, that’s the one’ and then we just kind of moved onto doing it. By the time we committed, we honestly didn’t have much time to think about anything. That potion was bloody impossible to brew, and let’s not even talk about how much of a pain in the ass sneaking a book out of the Restricted Section is without getting caught when you can’t be invisible.”

“And even that isn’t taking into account the logistics,” George added. “How were we going to get the Slytherins to take in the potion and all the rest? The first batch we brewed was meant to be ingested, but we realized that would never work. So, we had to come up with a solution that could be absorbed through the skin. It took ages! Was stressful as all hell, too.”

“And somewhere in that process, I think we forgot about the whole ‘what would actually happen if somebody grew scales bit,’” Fred finished a bit lamely.

“You know,” George added, fidgeting, “the whole conflict between scales and bones and the whole pushing through the skin thing.” 

“We wanted it to hurt like a bitch and leave them in the infirmary for the night, but we never, ever wanted any of that. We talk a lot about Slytherin, but we don’t really hate them. I mean, most of them are dicks, but that was a bit far.”

“Just a bit,” Charlus muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes at the twins’ gift for profound understatements.

“So… are we cool?” Fred asked tentatively, looking extremely nervous to hear Charlus’s response. “You’re not gonna go run off to Dumbledore or anything?”

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Charlus sighed. “I know you two aren’t that thick-headed to actually want to get people badly hurt. Just… ugh! I know this is stupid coming from the idiot who tried to fly a car to Hogwarts, but use your heads, will you?” In spite of themselves, the twins actually grinned at the self-deprecating gag.

“So no running off to Dumbledore?” Fred pressed, wanting that assurance, at least.

“No running off to Dumbledore,” Charlus agreed. The twins had been idiots, but a terrible mistake, in his eyes, did not justify expulsion from a place as magical as Hogwarts. “I am gonna tell Harry though,” Charlus told them and the twins suddenly looked a bit apprehensive. It was no wonder why. If Slytherin House had actual confirmation of the assailants’ identities, there was no telling how hellacious the twins’ lives could become for the foreseeable future. “He deserves to know. They all deserve to know.”

As much as they obviously wanted to deny it, both of the Weasley twins knew he was right, so they both reluctantly nodded their agreement with matching, guilty expressions.

_**October 19, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
6:39 PM** _

Pansy felt intensely uncomfortable locked in the room with Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott. She had been on her way to dinner when she’d found her path suddenly blocked by the two largest kids in their year, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. When she had attempted to not-so-politely order both Crabbe and Goyle out of her way, she was cut off by a cool, condescending drawl.

“In a hurry, Pansy?”

Promptly, Pansy’s posture dramatically stiffened as if a straight, metal rod had been fastened tightly in line with her spine. Soon after the voice had rung out through the corridor, Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind his two minions, his hair shining malevolently in the low torchlight of the corridor as his cold, hard stare resembled angry storm clouds as they locked onto Pansy’s chocolate brown eyes.

“I’d just like to get to dinner, Draco.”

“We’re not going to stop you, Pansy. It’ll be quick, I promise. We just have business to discuss.” It was then that Pansy noticed Theodore Nott standing a bit behind Draco, a sinisterly benign expression resting upon his sharp features.

Little as Pansy liked to admit it, she really had no choice in the matter. She was outnumbered four to one, with the two largest, most physically imposing kids in the year blocking her path. Granted, she was not short on confidence in a hypothetical duel against the lumbering trolls who stood before her. Against Draco, she was less sure. Pansy knew a few, solid hexes and curses, but her strengths were not in duelling. Against Theodore, she had a high degree of certainty in the results of a similar hypothetical situation.

A high degree of certainty that she would lose.

Theodore was highly interested in duelling and knew more curses than anyone else in Draco’s group. He also had a solid base in duelling, courtesy of his father, Tiberius.

In short, she was effectively cornered by the group whom she’d effectively abandoned a short time ago.

Before she knew it, Pansy had found herself herded into one of Hogwarts’ many abandoned classrooms. When the door had closed, Draco rounded on Pansy. “So, Pansy, a lot has changed in a week, I see.”

Pansy’s face twisted into something ugly. “Nothing has changed, Draco. I just decided to make a move to better my future.”

“Is that what you call being a sneaking traitor, Parkinson,” Nott snarled, dense undertones of accusation prevalent in his voice.

Pansy scoffed. “Grow up, Theodore. You make it sound as if I’ve betrayed you in a war or something. I’ve chosen to spend more time with other children.”

“You know it’s more than that, Parkinson. Who you hang around with is a political statement. Instead of hanging around with the right sort, you’ve chosen to consort with halfbloods and blood traitors.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Theodore, Daphne and Blaise are purebloods.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Parkinson, Potter and Davis are halfbloods. And lately, I’ve seen Weasley tangled up in your little group of friends too.”

“You make it sound as if I invited her.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you invited her or not, Pansy,” Draco said tiredly. “That should have been your cue to leave. As soon as your group started letting the riff-raff into the fold, you should have gotten out. You’re better than that. We’ll welcome you back, but I don’t want to see you go down the wrong path.”

“Stop making this sound like it’s about me! It’s never been about anyone but you, Draco. Especially not since whatever drama happened with Potter last May. You haven’t been the same since. You’ve been too full of yourself, too worried about pitying yourself and complaining to even give any attention to those around you, let alone care about them. You’ve changed, Draco. Hogwarts has changed you, and you’re no longer the best choice for me to align with. I’m sorry, but I’d like to go back down to the Great Hall now.”

She made to step forward, but Crabbe and Goyle once more blocked her exit. She tensed right away, feeling the tension thicken in the room around her as the inevitable altercation drew near. She considered going for her wand, but she could already see Theodore moving towards his own, and she knew any attempts she made to best him would be futile. 

Before the conflict could begin, however, the door opened loudly, drawing the attention of all who were present.

Harry Potter stood on the threshold of the room, with Charlotte Weitts standing just behind him. Charlotte looked a bit tense, her odd, magnetic eyes quickly and ruthlessly evaluating the situation before her.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed completely calm in spite of the obvious tension in the air. “Sorry if I’m interrupting something,” he said casually. “I didn’t realize there was any trouble.”

_**Minutes earlier, in the Great Hall...** _

Harry’s jade green eyes swept over the Slytherin table once more. By now, dinner had been in progress for almost forty minutes. Around Harry sat Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Laine, Charlotte and Ginny. The noticeable absence from the get-go had been Pansy, who had yet to miss a meal with the rest of the group up until this point.

Another irregularity that Harry noticed was that Draco Malfoy was also not present.

Nor, it seemed, were Crabbe, Goyle and Nott.

Harry casually slid his plate away from him, excusing himself early. He was actually finished with his food, and he suddenly suspected more important business than partaking in mundane conversation was beckoning for his attention.

He was almost out of the hall by the time somebody called for him to wait up. He did not stop moving, but he did glance over his shoulder to see Charlotte hot on his heels. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Joining you.” 

“You don’t have to.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“Not really, I just don’t see why you followed me.”

“If you must know, I could sense your switch of mood. Judging by how good you are at reading situations, it seemed more serious than my meal.”

“So you’re coming for backup, then?”

“I guess you could say that, yes.”

Harry took a moment to ponder before nodding. Charlotte could be useful on this escapade. There was also, of course, the fact that he didn’t mind her company.

_**Back in the present…**_

“This doesn’t concern you, Potter!” Nott snarled, shooting an openly hateful glare towards the new male arrival.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree, Nott. From what I can tell, it seems like the four of you are harassing a friend of mine.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Draco said coldly, looking resolutely anywhere but at Harry.

In contrast to Draco, Harry smiled in an almost warm way. “That’s good to hear, Draco.” Pansy could practically see the Malfoy Heir fume as Harry called him by his first name. “In that case, you won’t mind if Pansy joins us for dinner?”

There was a moment where Nott was very obviously about to make it plainly clear exactly how much he did mind. At the same moment, Draco caught his eye in an equally obvious fashion, and reluctantly, Nott backed down.

“Pansy is free to do whatever she likes,” Draco said a bit stiffly. “I just want her to know that she will always have to live with the repercussions of her choices.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Harry mused, a smirk gently playing on his lips. “Seeing as I’m sure she knows that, we’ll be leaving now. Good catching up with you Draco, Theo.” When Harry shortened Nott’s name, Pansy could see the hatred and fury flash in his eyes, see the way every muscle in his lithe form was suddenly wrought with tension.

But again, he did nothing.

None of them did anything as Harry and Charlotte very casually led her from the room.

“For future reference, Pansy,” Harry said once out of earshot, “be a bit more careful, will you? I won’t always be conveniently in place to bail you out. And I won’t always have somebody with me who can tell me whether or not I’m about to walk into a set of wards.”

Pansy looked sharply at Charlotte, taken aback by the implications of that last sentence. Masking her surprise and noting Charlotte’s passive demeanour, she nodded slowly. “Thanks, you two. I’ll keep it in mind.”

_**October 24, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
8:00 PM** _

As Harry predictably lost his wand to Calypso, his attention refocused on the other ongoing duel in the room.

Cassius fired a purple spell at Hestia, who sidestepped and conjured arrows, banishing them towards Cassius. Cassius shielded, allowing the arrows to splash off of his shield as Hestia quickly reeled off the blasting curse, piledriving her way straight through Cassius’s shield with the blunt, magical attack. Cassius had rolled out of the way before the spell made impact so when he came to his feet, he was already in a prime position to counter.

Hestia, never one to back down from a firefight, exchanged spells with him. The spell-fire was fast and intense on both ends until Hestia managed to slip a well-placed curse through Cassius’s Defences.

“Exoculutus!”

There was a flash of white light from Hestia’s wand so bright that for a moment, Harry’s vision was forcefully ripped away from him. Judging by the pained scream emanating from Cassius, he was more directly affected. Seconds later, he lost his wand and immediately, he began to rub furiously at his eyes, obviously in a considerable amount of pain.

“Vidēre.”

Calypso’s wand omitted a vibrant flash of blue light and with a relieved sigh, Cassius slumped to his knees, blinking his eyes furiously as if he had just emerged from complete and utter darkness. 

“The blinding curse,” Calypso elaborated when she saw Harry’s look of puzzlement. “It’s quite the nasty spell. It will blind a person completely until it’s countered. In the meantime, I’ve heard the burning sensation is hell.” Cassius moaned from the floor, obviously affirming that statement. “It’s not hard to counter, but a right pain in battle. You can’t exactly take time to counter its effects if you can’t see the other spells coming at you. Cassius should’ve just shielded instantly, but I imagine he was surprised.”

“Bloody well right I was surprised!” Cassius muttered darkly as he climbed to his feet. “Bit harsh, don’t you think?” he asked Hestia, who just shrugged noncommittally in response. 

“I don’t like losing.” 

“Clearly,” Cassius responded dryly.

Harry shuddered at the implications of that curse. He hated the idea of being helpless. It was a concept the likes of which he hated above all other imaginable things. It was no surprise that in light of that, he abhorred the idea of not being able to see. It could open him up to an infinitely large multitude of situations, none of which were likely to end favourably for him.

“Can you teach me the counter to that?” he asked Calypso quietly as Hestia and Flora decided to duel one another.

“That’s probably not a bad idea. I don’t really love the idea of blinding somebody in order for you to learn it. So, let’s just run you through the spell for tonight.” Harry nodded and they began.

The main difficulty in learning the Viderē counter curse was that it was a spell very heavily based on intent. You truly had to intend very strongly to reverse the damage the curse had done. It was for this reason that according to Calypso, the counter would not work if you were, for instance, trying to heal somebody who you intensely disliked. By the end of the practice, Harry was reasonably sure he had gotten the hang of it. Though seeing as nobody was particularly eager to be a live training dummy, he couldn’t be sure.

That thought did give him pause though. 

As Cassius, Hestia and Flora made to leave the room, Harry caught Calypso’s eye and made a subtle gesture, asking whether or not she would mind hanging back. She briefly nodded, gesturing for her friends to go ahead before she was left alone in the room with Harry.

“What is it, Harry?”

“What if I told you I have a way to work on spells like that?”

Calypso frowned. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“I know of a place with targets that will react to spell-fire like humans.”

“Inside of Hogwarts?” He nodded. “Where?”

He paused. “I’m… not entirely sure I should tell you. There is at least one other person who might use it, and I’m not sure how they would react if I told you. I’ll clear it with them before telling you, if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Calypso said with a nod. “In that case, do you want me to actually teach you the Blinding Curse?”

Harry hesitated. “Can I ask you a couple of honest questions and have you answer me very honestly, Calypso?”

“Unless you ask something I have a very good reason not to answer, then absolutely.”

“The Blinding curse would be classified as a ‘dark curse’, correct?”

Calypso’s eyes narrowed. “Correct.”

“I’ve heard the expression that there’s no such thing as light and dark or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded.” For a second, Harry swore he saw a look of recognition and of surprise in his older friend’s eyes. As quickly as it had seemingly appeared, it had certainly vanished. Perhaps Calypso too had read the centuries-old text of Emeric Emelaus. “I tend to believe that’s true. It’s a cliché analogy, but you could kill somebody with a tickling or levitation charm. But… I’ve heard things about ‘dark magic.’” This time, he physically drew air quotes around the last two words.

“And you want me to tell you whether or not they’re true, or whether they’re censored, government propaganda?”

Harry nodded. “If you can, yes.”

Calypso gave him a long, evaluating look. “What makes you think that I’m the right person to ask these questions to?”

“I’m… not sure. You’re the best duellist I know and don’t seem bothered by the Ministry’s restrictions. If I had to guess, I would assume you think pretty much like I do when it comes to the whole ‘dark magic’ debate. So, you probably know some of it, at least. If you can’t answer me, that’s fine.” 

Most of that was actually true.

Grace was definitely a better duellist than Calypso, at least for now, but he didn’t need to reveal that fact, nor that he was on more than speaking terms with the top player in Slytherin. Also unsaid were the implications of her family. 

Whether her father was a Death Eater or not was up for debate and had been for years. Her mother had died in a raid conducted by the Death Eaters, and she had not been fighting for the Ministry. What that meant for the traditionally conservative Rosier family, Harry wasn’t sure, in the grand scheme of things.

But if Calypso’s family library wasn’t filled with books packed with all kinds of interesting, morally questionable magic, then Harry would forfeit the sight he had regained as a result of the vampire’s ritual.

Harry had learned all of that information after befriending Calypso. 

If he were going to spend time with a person, he was damn sure going to learn as much about that person as he could without being outwardly obvious with his inquisitions.

“I never said I couldn’t answer,” Calypso pointed out. “I can probably answer, but I was curious to hear your thoughts. That was a very safe answer, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’m not one for speculating, personally.”

“A safe outlook. Well, what are your questions?”

“I’ve… read in a few books that ‘dark magic’ is extremely addictive and that one of the reasons why it’s outlawed is because it tends to lead people down a dark path.”

“Rubbish,” Calypso answered without hesitation. “You clearly haven’t opened the book I sent you last Yule. I’m not surprised, since it may have been a bit much to send it to a first year, but you really should read it. Beyond the list of spells, potions and the like, the theory behind them are extremely interesting.

“I’m probably not the best person to explain this theory to you. Let us just say that magic can be addicting and leave it at that. Magic is magic. Magic doesn’t decide that certain spells are light and certain spells are dark. That’s one of the reasons that the Ministry’s classifications are completely ridiculous. There is no difference in magic in that sense. It’s what the spell can be used for that’s different. 

“Again, I’m not the person to explain this. I know a bit of the theory, but it’s not exactly written down in many places. You might be able to find a book on it if you looked through the Restricted Section. I know the basics and didn’t really dive much further than that.”

Harry for some reason doubted that the Restricted Section would hold those answers. Fortunately, he had a magical genius on standby to answer his theoretical questions, and he would definitely be taking this topic of discussion to her as soon as he was back in the comfort of his dormitory.

From what he could tell, Calypso was a pragmatist. She learned what was prudent and directly helpful. The difference was that Harry was intensely curious and suspicious of things that were told to him. After being lied to for the majority of one’s life about how they had come to live the life they led and how their parents had become separated from them, he thought it was only natural. And even beyond that, Harry couldn’t let something go on the basis that he ‘knew enough.’

He would always need to pursue that topic until his level of knowledge and understanding was one that he deemed acceptable. 

But for now, he would push that specific question to the back of his mind, even if it would inevitably resurface a short time later.

_**Sometime later, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

Harry, near bursting with curiosity, practically bolted behind the veil of his curtains upon his arrival back to the Slytherin common room and later, his dorm. He was far too curious not to seek out immediate answers. That desire found him sitting on his bed, hovering a quill eagerly over his connection to Emily Riddle.

_So, an interesting topic came up today. It’s a bit… controversial, but I was wondering if I could ask you about it?_

Her response was slightly more delayed than Harry was accustomed to. He could practically picture whatever the person in possession of the linked bit of parchment looked like trying to ponder exactly what he might ask.

After a time, the response came.

_I’ve said already, Harry, that you may ask me about anything you like. Specifically, in regards to magic, I would be happy to answer any questions you might have. By the nature and wording of your question, I am going to assume that your question centres around one or more areas of extracurricular study._

_You could say that, yes. If I ask something that I’m… not supposed to ask, you’re not going to show this to the authorities or anything, are you?_

_Ah, you intend to ask about banned magic, then?_

_It’s… not exactly legal. So yes, I suppose so._

_I find the English Ministry’s classification system in regards to magic positively laughable. It was written by fools who were weak and ignorant. They feared the true scope of magic because they knew that it was so far beyond them._

_So in short, no, I will not bat an eye at your question.  
Curiosity is not a sin, Harry. It is a beautiful thing that should be nurtured and allowed to flourish. So please, ask your question._

After an intense moment of hesitation, Harry’s curiosity won out over his perpetual sense of paranoia.

_I practice combat magic with some older friends and the blinding curse came up. I had one of them show me the counter, and she eventually ended up offering to show me the spell itself. We started talking a bit about “dark magic” and I had some questions. She answered them, but she admitted herself that she probably wasn’t the right person to give details. I think she sort of learns what’s useful to her and then moves on. I’d like to get your opinion on what I asked her, and maybe ask some more detailed questions if you don’t mind._

Harry smiled abashedly at the response.

_I don’t see a question in that paragraph, Harry. There is no need to justify yourself to me. I’ve already given you the green light to ask as you please._

Sighing, Harry finally put his quill to the parchment and got to the point.

_I’m not sure if it’s Ministry propaganda, but I’ve read that “dark magic” is extremely addictive. I’ve even heard some authors say that it’s one of the reasons why it’s banned. That you can get addicted to “dark magic” and it can change you. I asked my friend this question, but I’d really appreciate your take on it._

_How about you tell me exactly how your friend answered the question. That way, I know what I am working with. Or which misconceptions I need to erase._

Harry’s lips twitched. Emily’s ever-present confidence was endearing in an odd sort of way. Similar to Charlotte in that way, actually. But a lot less dangerous for him, which amplified the endearing feeling and avoided the dread that came with every display of confidence from the youngest daughter of House Weitts.

_My friend said it was rubbish. She said that magic can be addictive. She said that magic is magic; it doesn’t pick what spells are dark and which spells are light. It’s all the same. The difference is in the intent of the spell, not the magic itself._

There was a longer pause this time.

_She is mostly correct. That is a rather insightful answer for a student to give, and I am reasonably impressed with it. It has some gaps, however, so allow me to enlighten you._

_The short answer is no, “dark magic” is not addictive. Your friend is not entirely correct in saying that the spell doesn’t matter, though her sentiment is true. The magic does not artificially change its wielder based on the intent of the spell._

_There are two reasons, aside from the purpose of spreading propaganda, of course, that people say “dark magic” is addictive._

_The first is that for many spells considered “dark” by your Ministry, the caster must conjure up negative intent of some kind. The intent to harm is a fairly frequent esoteric requirement, for instance. The problem lies in the fact that most people do not have the emotional or mental control to conjure up that specific, clear intent. As a result, they use a metaphorical crutch to cast “dark magic”._

_They focus on something vaguer than intent, that being emotion. In place of true, guided intent, a person can force up negative emotions. The most frequently used are hate and anger. This is problematic because if a person learns to cast like this and begins to cast these spells frequently, they are inevitably plunging themselves into a perpetual paradox of sadness, depression and fury._

_This is not the magic’s fault, but the caster’s._

_If one has true control over their mind and they understand the difference between emotions and intent, this is not a problem. Occlumency is extremely useful in this process. Particularly once a person learns to manipulate their emotions. It is wholly unnecessary to be able to do this in order to cast “dark spells”, but it certainly makes the process easier._

Harry took a moment to soak all of that in before he asked his next question. It was indeed a much deeper answer than Calypso had given, but that was to be expected. Harry liked Calypso, but she had nothing on Emily Riddle when it came to magical knowledge and experience. He found that the last answer was a lot to digest, but that was fairly typical for these conversations.

Within about two minutes, he was ready for more and writing his follow up question.

_And the other reason?_

_Here is where I am going to need to further your knowledge on magic itself for this response to make any degree of sense, as well as patch one of the few holes in your friend’s initial answer._

Harry felt his pulse quicken in excitement. This answer sounded as if it would be extremely enlightening and intensely intriguing. 

_The statement “magic is magic” is true in a sense but it is also fundamentally flawed. Magic is one, universal force in which we as witches and wizards can warp with our intent. In that sense, one could argue magic is as flexible as one’s intent, while one could argue that since magic is a near infinitely powerful blank slate, it is one, constant force. Frankly, that is an absurdly philosophical debate that we need not get into._

_The other thing you must know about magic is that it is a force that lives and breathes all around us. Magic is not within a person. No compartment nor organ within a human being stores magic. There is no genetic disposition that allows a witch or wizard to produce magic._

_Producing magic in this way is not possible._

_As I said, magic is a living, breathing force that lives all around us. Don’t make the mistake of the less educated and think of us witches and wizards as containers._

_Instead, think of us as conductors._

_Magic is a blank slate all around us which is there to be manipulated. When we call upon the force itself, we draw magic into us before our intent shapes it and projects it outwards. Obviously, I am oversimplifying this since I do not think you need to know how that process works at this point. Suffice to say it is complex and multi-faceted._

_The important thing to take from that, for this explanation, is the bit about us being conductors. The grander an act we are attempting, the more magic are bodies will naturally need to draw in. Of course, some people are naturally better conductors than others, which is how they are more “powerful”._

_The truth lays here._

_“Dark magic” is not addictive._

_Powerful magic is addictive._

_For feats of magic grander and more significant, we need to absorb more magic, as I have said. Drawing in large amounts of magic at a time is addictive. Extremely so, even. It is akin to sensory overload, in a sense. The truth of the matter is that the reason “dark magic” gets lumped in with this phenomenon is that many “dark spells” are ones that require a very large amount of magic to make work. As a result, you experience a “rush” when casting them._

_But this is not by any means exclusive to dark magic._

_If you were to conjure objects of a grand scale or complexity, a similar thing happens. When one apparates, they experience a similar, if admittedly lesser sensation. That is also the reason apparition is far less pleasant if you are being apparated by another person as opposed to doing it yourself_

_In short, powerful magic is addictive, not “dark magic”. There are other spells that require such energy which are not dark, so a person will find it fundamentally impossible to get addicted to “dark magic” as long as they properly guide their intent._

_There is nothing that sets ‘dark magic” aside from any other magic aside from the power it requires. As a result, one cannot get addicted to ‘dark magic’. The worst-case scenario is that you get addicted to powerful magic._

_As for warping a person. That may be a discussion for another time. For now, just picture what might happen if one begins to frequently cast spells that become, to them, synonymous with fury or hatred._

Yes, that would do it, he supposed.

Harry was left reeling and scratching his temples as a result of that. Sighing, he flipped the page and began to take notes. After all, along with the first page serving as a communication tool, this was a basically endless journal.

It was about time Harry started putting that function to good use.

_**October 25, 1992  
The Library  
7:57 PM** _

Charlotte sighed, glancing back at the other reason she was confined to the library with Ginny and Laine.

“Officially”, she had been finishing her prep. At least, that was what she had told her friends.

Of course, that much was also true.

But it was only half the reason she was there in the first place.

The other reason had pale skin, well-defined features, intense, dark eyes and vivid black hair. Speaking of Derrick Mulciber, Charlotte saw him move out of the corner of her eye.

He was sitting at a table on his own, with several books on charms chaotically clustered around him.

Or, at least, he had been sitting at the table

Currently, he was getting to his feet, scooping up the books and moving to put them back as he slung his bag over one shoulder. 

Taking her cue, Charlotte politely excused herself, promptly packing up her cluster of things before making her way towards the exit to the library. On the way out, she bumped into him, as expected.

Quite forcefully, at that.

Charlotte, who had braced for the impact, reared back as if it had done more than it actually had. Mulciber swore under his breath, shooting a vicious glare in her general direction. “Watch where the hell you’re going, Weitts!”

Charlotte made hard, intense eye contact with Mulciber and the boy shivered. It felt as if waves of heat were washing over him. At the same time, a feeling crept up within him that was something akin to having his soul read and his secrets laid bare. Clearly, in his mind, Weitts was trying to get him to back down.

As annoying as it was, the impulse did certainly arise.

With a considerable effort, Derrick bit down on the emotion, hard.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Mulciber. I know your ego takes up a lot of room, but I think you still had enough space to get around me.”

“Weitts, I swear, if you don’t shut up-“

“Curse me then, Mulciber. I dare you to curse me.” As she said this, Charlotte actually went as far as to put her hands behind her back, tilting her head challengingly towards Mulciber.

But still, there was that look in Weitts’s eyes.

That look that promised that she would scorch the earth in her efforts to gain retribution.

And also the fact that they were in the library, which was far too useful of a source to lose. Which was exactly what would happen to Derrick if he cursed Charlotte there and then.

In light of these things, Derrick Mulciber stormed from the library with his head held high, shooting one, last disdainful look back in Charlotte Weitts’s direction. He failed to notice the thin, sharp smile on the blonde’s soft, aristocratic face as he made his exit.*

As he began his descent down the marble staircase leading into the Hogwarts dungeons, Derrick Mulciber was about done with Charlotte Weitts. What had become a simple task levied upon him had become something more personal since their first encounter.

He could not explain, even to himself, why he had thought fleeing was the best course of action at the time of the attack. After all, they had been blessed with a numeric advantage in the altercation. But still, there had been a thick, unmistakable aura of danger flowing around the corridor. An aura that seemed to practically whisper the words of warning that had flashed through his mind at the time.

In hindsight, he wished he and Alex simply would have stood their ground.

The smugness on Weitts’s face on the occasions they had met was something he couldn’t stand. The way she had practically ordered him out of the library was even more infuriating.

But contrary to what Charlotte Weitts might think, he had not left the library out of any sense of fear or self-preservation.

Instead, he had left the library in search of his original accomplice. 

The first time had been a setup which he himself had not orchestrated. This time would be a message, a display. Unlike the last, it would be done solely for his own, selfish desires.

Just as he thought this, Mulciber came to the bottom of the marble staircase and began to descend deeper into the Hogwarts dungeons, drawing nearer and nearer to the Slytherin common room. 

As he rounded a corner, Mulciber paused to consider where he thought his best friend and chosen accomplice may have been.

That pause was what allowed a white jet of light to hit Mulciber in the back, causing him to go rigid as a board and fall forwards.

From behind the suit of armour connected to the passage near the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, Charlotte Weitts stepped out into the dungeon corridor, levitating the immobile body of Derrick Mulciber into an abandoned classroom a bit down the hall. She noted the fact that later, she would have to thank Harry for the tidbit about that passage. She had asked for the fastest way from the library to the dungeons, and he had obliged her request in seconds.

That had been several days ago.

Ever since her talk with Harry, Charlotte had believed that the attack by Bulstrode on Weasley had been a connected event. This meant in her mind that it was time to properly retaliate. Not with anything major, as of yet, but a warning shot, of sorts.

This had led her to briefly scan the mind of Derrick Mulciber on her way out of the library, quickly noting that he was on his way down to the dungeons. She also noted, as their brief and hostile conversation had progressed, that he planned to set up an ambush for her.

Unfortunately for him, he was not an Occlumens, and thanks to Harry, she could get down to the dungeons far faster than he could.

“In the future, Mulciber, definitely don’t stop in the middle of an open corridor with your back exposed. You made that way too easy,” Charlotte floated him into the corner of the room. With another wave of her wand, Charlotte piled desks in front of him. It did not completely obscure him from view, but it would assure he was not discovered here for some time.

Then, she waited. Before levitating him into the room, she had managed to get a flash of something from him. Something about this room being his destination. Her best guess was that he and Jugson often used it as a meeting place.

So, logically, the best way she might be able to find him was by waiting.

She waited longer than she would have liked, about thirty minutes, to be precise. But sure enough, footsteps could be heard after that time had elapsed, obviously coming closer and closer to the room. With a sweet smile, Charlotte slid her wand from her sleeve and waited. When the door opened and Alex Jugson stepped through, he too was struck by a full-body-bind before he could do so much as move.

Before he could fall, Charlotte caught him with a levitation charm and propped him up against the wall in a standing position, keeping him upright with the force of the spell. Then, she stepped towards him, reaching out with the hand that was not holding her wand. Using that hand, she tilted his chin up so that his eyes could meet hers, since his head had slumped limply towards his chest.

“This is your warning, Jugson, since I have a feeling Mulciber is too stubborn to listen. This is me on the fly, with barely any planning or effort. If you two idiots keep going, I’m going to take this a lot more seriously.” 

If Jugson could have moved, he would have shivered. He had never been fond of starting drama with the youngest member of House Weitts to begin with, and this was not exactly a firm boost for his confidence. Least of all when those mesmerizing eyes seemed to be searching his very soul.

But before he could ponder on it much more, he too was carelessly discarded behind the stacked desks with the levitation charm, and Charlotte had swept out of the abandoned classroom without a second glance.

_**October 28, 1992  
The Slytherin Changing Rooms  
8:03 PM** _

After one of the more intense team practices thus far, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins stepped gratefully into their waiting showers. As November drew near, the frigid weather in the Scottish Highlands had become borderline brutal at this time of night. In light of this, many of the showers currently in use were spraying forth water that was a bit warmer than their occupants would normally prefer.

Predictably, Harry was the first to finish showering. Years of conditioning on Privet Drive had left its mark. After having such limited shower time for the majority of his life, it wasn’t a luxury Harry was accustomed to taking advantage of. It was because of this fact that Harry was the first one out of the changing rooms, shivering lightly at the sudden and unwelcome change of temperatures. 

Soon after, he nearly jumped a foot into the air when a voice hissed from somewhere off to his left. 

“Psst, Harry.”

He whirled, emerald eyes scanning the landscape for the speaker. His eyes found nothing. Nor, disturbingly, did his ring. Thus far, the only person who had effectively managed to evade whatever magic was used on his ring had been Albus Dumbledore. 

A disembodied, dishevelled mop of black hair made itself present as a hood was lowered, revealing a floating, familiar face.

“Charlus?” Harry asked skeptically, tensing marginally at his twin’s arrival

Since the fiasco that had been the climax of their first year, the two of them had not properly spoken so much as once. The closest they had come was at the gala, in which they had essentially been obligated to at least make cordial, casual conversation with one another. Even that had been tense, and their relationship had only worsened after the spat in the alley and the tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins regarding their upcoming Quidditch match.

Oh, and the whole incident when Ron Weasley had punched Harry in the face for trying to stop him from being a git. He supposed that probably hadn’t helped.

When taking all of that into consideration, Harry was more than a little bit surprised to see his brother at all. Let alone to see him waiting for Harry outside of the changing room on the dark, dreary Hogwarts grounds during one of the coldest days of the year thus far.

“Can we talk?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, Charlus, we’re already talking. If you mean in private, sure, we can talk. But I’d like to do it in the castle if you don’t mind. It’s cold as hell out here and I just got out of a warm, soothing shower, which only makes it feel even worse.”

Charlus flushed, muttering something about how impossible Harry was. Or perhaps it was about Slytherins, or both. Harry wasn’t sure and he did not much care either way as Charlus mercifully agreed to his twin’s counter-proposal.

Minutes later, after a silent walk back up to the castle during which Charlus remained hidden under his invisibility cloak, the two twins found themselves in an abandoned classroom. Instantly, both of them drew wands. As Charlus cast the Muffliato charm, Harry waved his wand through the air, drawing tight if admittedly basic runes to conjure up a detection ward around the room.

“What was that?” Charlus asked as he stowed away his wand.

“Just a basic ward. If anybody comes near the room, I’ll know.” Technically, Harry would know already because of his ring, but getting into the habit of casting such wards wasn’t a bad idea. Least of all when it served to further his knowledge and magical memory in regards to Ancient Runes, a subject which he was very interested in.

There was a long, tense pause between the two twins in which they both just stared at each other. Harry’s vivid, emerald eyes bore into Charlus’s deep, hazel counterparts. For a time, it would have appeared to an onlooker as if neither twin would ever need to blink. Finally, with a long sigh, Charlus looked away. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Not even a little bit,” Harry admitted shamelessly.

Charlus exhaled deeply. “I was stupid, okay? I… was stuck thinking about what you said instead of what you did. My brain kept coming back to the moment in the catacombs when Voldemort asked you to join her. It kept coming back to the way you hesitated, the way you said you wanted to.”

“What’s changed?” Harry asked bluntly, his expression and voice both perfect personifications of complete and utter calmness. 

“I… don’t know, actually. I think it’s been coming on for a while, but I finally realized it when I talked with Professor Dumbledore ages ago.” At the mention of the Headmaster, Harry’s jaw tightened as his eye twitched. Charlus, looking ashamedly down at the floor noticed neither gesture. 

“I… think when Ginny got sorted into Slytherin, I started to wake up a bit. I’ve grown up with her, sort of. We were never close, but I’ve watched her. I know she’s a good person, which I think jogged my brain to think about you again. And then, when Ron started treating her… the way he’s been treating her, it made me realize that I didn’t want to lose my brother.”

“If nothing else, I applaud you for wanting to be nothing like Ron Weasley.”

Charlus winced. “He’s not that bad, Harry.” Harry tapped the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger three times, prompting Charlus to wince once more. “I’m… sorry for that.”

“You didn’t seem sorry at the time.”

Charlus winced. “I… was an idiot, I guess. I don’t know what to think. I… didn’t take the drama well at the gala, which only made it worse.” Harry snorted, clearly indicating that Charlus had understated the fact, but the Boy-Who-Lived pressed on. “Then, in Flourish and Blotts, you supported Malfoy-”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Charlus. Come on! You can’t be that thick!”

Charlus blinked. “What do you-“

“Supported Malfoy? He put me in an impossible position. If I answered one way, I’d make you lot upset. If I answered another way, I’d make a whole lot of other people upset who have easy access to me for the whole school year.” This time, it was Harry’s turn to wince. “I… tried to give a neutral answer. I admit that it was not my best moment.”

Charlus now looked taken aback. “So you don’t believe in all that blood purist crap?”

“I’m a halfblood, Charlus. Use your brain, I know you have one somewhere.”

“But you said-“

“I said muggles, which is an entirely different debate for an entirely different time. I would rather not talk about how I feel about muggles. If you’re that bothered, let me dumb this down for you; blood purity is complete and utter nonsense. Some of the most powerful wizards in the world are halfbloods. Hell, your friend, Granger is the second-best in our year behind me. That means the two best students in the year are a halfblood and a muggleborn. I see no evidence whatsoever to support blood purity.” He paused. “If you need more convincing, I… did a number on Malfoy after he called your friend a mudblood.”

Charlus looked legitimately curious. “What did you do to him?”

“Bruised his rib, cut off his airways for a few seconds and warned him. I told him if he ever used that word in front of me again, he would wish to be back in that changing room.”

Charlus looked very conflicted about that confession, but he chose not to comment. “Why don’t you like muggles?”

“I would really rather not ruin the first decent conversation we’ve had in months by starting a stupid disagreement that neither of us are ever going to agree with the other person on.”

“Does that mean you’ll accept my apology?”

“I haven’t heard an apology yet.”

Scrunching up his face in annoyance, Charlus took a long inhale of breath before exhaling in a measured sort of way. “I’m sorry for being a git to you for the last few months. And for being a complete idiot and missing everything that should’ve been obvious.”

Harry shrugged. “Close enough.”

“So… are we good then?”

Harry pondered that question for almost a full minute before answering. “We are not on the same terms we left on. We’re brothers, but right now, we’re not friends. If I’m being honest, I don’t trust you. The last time I gave you a chance, you betrayed my trust, broke your promise and then painted me as the villain for months. We start from square one. You can work to rebuild our trust and if you don’t bottle it this time, we’ll eventually get back to where we were last year. I’ll warn you right now though, it might take longer this time around.”

Charlus let the tension ease out of his body. It was the best outcome he could have realistically hoped for. In truth, the second year Gryffindor knew that it was far more than he deserved. “So…” he started, “excited for the Quidditch match?”

In spite of himself, Harry cracked a weak smile. “We haven’t talked in four months, and of course, the first damn question you ask me is related to Quidditch.”

Charlus laughed. He couldn’t tell if it was a good start or not. If nothing else, it was certainly an amusing one.

__**October 31, 1992**  
The Slytherin Common Room  
5:46 PM 

Harry wished his friends all the best as they departed for the traditional “Halloween feast”. Just the fact that the school called it Halloween and not the Samhain feast was enough to infuriate much of Slytherin House, but it was not the reason why Harry had no interest in the evening’s festivities.

Those reasons were of course quite obvious. 

Eleven years ago to the day, Lady Voldemort had attacked Harry’s family, killed his mother, and by extension, ruined his life. It was because of the events that transpired that night that he had grown up abandoned and abused on Privet Drive.

That was the difference between him and Charlus, Harry suspected.

While Charlus certainly felt the effects of that night, it did not have the same, dark implications that it had for Harry.

For Charlus, it was the mourning of a person he had never truly known. Aside from that, the night in question had given him fame, notoriety and prestige.

In Harry’s case, it was not so much mourning the person as much as it was mourning the life he never had the opportunity to live.

Sighing, he glanced up at the clock. It had taken him approximately three minutes to realize that if he sat there, he was going to become lost in deep, depressing thoughts that would only make his already murky mood more miserable than it already was. He could try and read, or study, or a combination of the two, but he immediately knew his mind wouldn’t focus on the task. Instead, it would fixate on the dark, oppressive thoughts that clung on to the edges of his mind like a dying man about to fall overboard. 

There was a part of Harry that knew venturing out into the castle proper was a bad idea. Last year, that had nearly gotten him killed. 

But at this point, Harry could think of few things worse than the crippling mood he was currently experiencing. After all, there was no troll to attack him this year, and no evil Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, as far as he could tell.

Of course, as he quietly walked out of the Slytherin common room, a part of him knew that the gods of irony should be left unchallenged.

Most of him, however, disregarded those thoughts completely.

_**Meanwhile, in a different section of the Hogwarts dungeons…** _

“Tell me again,” Ron muttered, “why exactly are we going to some ghost’s birthday party?”

“Deathday party, Ronald,” Hermione corrected.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, sorry, such an easy mistake to make.”

“If you say that at any point tonight, there is a serious chance that somebody may actually get offended.”

Ron shrugged. “It’s not like they can hurt me, is it? They’re ghosts.”

Hermione just sighed as Charlus walked along in silence. Truthfully, he was not in the mood for any of their foolish bickering. Ideally, he would have attended the Deathday party alone. But Ron had been walking with him when Nearly-Headless Nick had made the offer.

At least it would be better than the hundreds of students that would have awaited him in the Great Hall. On this night, he preferred solidarity. Even if this wasn’t exactly what he had been going for, it was at least closer than what he could have been experiencing.

Idly, Charlus wondered what his brother thought of Samhain, and what Harry may have been doing at that precise moment in time.

_**Approximately two hours later, on the fourth floor…** _

Harry noted that by now, the feast was coming to a close and he would need to quickly dress if he wanted to arrive at Weitts Manor in time for the Samhain gala. 

It was with this in mind that he quickly began making his way down towards the second floor, which contained the passage concealed behind a suit of armour which would swiftly take him directly down to the Hogwarts dungeons, circumventing the needless crowds and distance in between.

As he neared the third floor, however, he froze, his eyes going wide as his entire body went ramrod stiff. 

The sound was like nothing he had ever heard before.

It seemed raspy, almost as if it had not been used in a very long time. Yet, it had an intrinsically powerful air about it. 

Harry could not explain it, but something about that voice scared him more than Voldemort. More than Vernon Dursley. More than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life. 

**“Rip… tear… kill!”**

Harry’s wand was in his hand a second later as he did a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree rotation on the staircase, trying to locate any threats. At the same time, he was focusing intensely on his ring, but it wasn’t warning him of any threats nearby. 

Of course, there was a part of him that instinctively knew there was no weapon in his arsenal that would give whatever this was so much as a second thought, but ingrained habits were a powerful thing.

After realizing whatever the source of that voice was had not yet beared down upon him, Harry strained his senses, trying to catch it again.

Seconds later, he was rewarded.

**“So long I have waited — too long, far too long. Blood; I smell blood! Let me rip you, let me tear you, let me kill you!”**

Harry realized that the voice was closer this time. The first time it had sounded out, he would have perhaps estimated it to be further above him. This only meant one thing in Harry’s mind.

It was coming for him and drawing nearer by the second.

As fear gripped Harry’s heart, he took the stairs at a flat sprint, barrelling down onto the third floor and not stopping there. The worst part was that as he ran, making straight for the passage near the out of order girl’s lavatory on the second floor, Harry heard the voice sound several more times, drawing closer and closer. Then, oddly, it sounded one final time, and to Harry, it almost sounded as if it was below him. He wondered in horror, as he began to hear the sounds of students making their way upstairs from the feast, whether or not the thing was waiting to ambush him on the floor below.

As Harry flew around the corner to the second-floor girl’s bathroom which had been out of bounds ever since his arrival at Hogwarts, he froze, wide-eyed at the scene in front of him, which could have been taken straight out of one of Dudley’s overdramatized horror movies.

There was a puddle of water on the floor. To call it a puddle was doing it a disservice. The entire corridor was coated in it, at least two inches in any given space. It appeared as if it was seeping from under the door of the restroom.

But that was not the terrible part.

Hanging from the torch bracket on the opposite wall, very clearly limp and very possibly dead was Mrs. Norris. More disturbingly still, Harry could see no obvious signs of damage anywhere on her body.

And if that wasn’t the icing on the cake, the writing on the wall certainly was.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware!_

As his mind struggled to process what he was seeing, only one, glaring thought made itself obvious to Harry.

If somebody walked in on this right now, it was going to look very, very bad.

As if the thought had summoned some sort of being forged straight from irony itself, Harry suddenly heard heavy, panicked footsteps rushing in his direction. 

That was the moment in which he had a split-second decision to make.

He could either stand here out in the open and get discovered. Or he could activate his ring and go dark. The problem with the second was that realistically, he could only hold his breath for about a minute, tops. Whoever was bearing down upon the scene was inevitably going to be distracted for at least that long by the horror of the setting that awaited them, and Harry thought the only thing worse than this for him would be if he was caught attempting to hide.

He also knew that he could never make a break for it. He didn’t have enough time, and the ring didn’t stop him from being heard. Plus, he needed to give the password to the suit of armour, which would require him to speak. At that point, he would lose the advantage of being invisible, and his back would be to whatever student or staff member was fast approaching.

That was absolutely out of the question

So it was with that in mind that Harry waited for the person’s arrival, feeling as if he were on death row. There was an infinitesimally small amount of time when Harry wished he had tried to bolt for the passage in spite of the reality of the situation. 

That thought was confirmed not five seconds later when three figures skidded around the corner, and Harry could have actually facepalmed at the cruelty of it all.

“The fucking luck I have on Samhain...’

“Harry?” Charlus asked, wide-eyed, confused and scared-looking. Then, he looked past his brother and went pale as a sheet as he, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger all realized what they had just walked in on.

“Charlus!” Harry tried desperately. “I know what this looks like but I promise you, I did nothing! I was wandering the school and-“ but before he could finish, Weasley had drawn his wand. A second later, Granger had followed, and both wands were suddenly trained on Harry.

“Don’t move!” Hermione said forcefully as Ron began crying out, screaming about a tragic scene to draw the attention of the crowd. Subconsciously, Harry took a step towards the passageway. “You’re not going anywhere, Potter,” Granger said shrilly. “Stay where you are or I swear I will curse you.”

Harry looked pleadingly towards Charlus, but his brother was having none of it. His expression looked stricken and betrayed.

The worst part was, Harry couldn’t even blame him this time.

If the roles were reversed, Harry would never buy the excuses of somebody caught in his precarious position. It was too convenient, too obvious to ignore.

Later, he would curse himself for his lack of concentration at that moment.

As he looked away from her, Granger took that opportunity to disarm him. Before he could do so much as protest, he had been hit with a charm which stuck his feet flat to the floor and then a full-body-bind curse. The only positive was the former prevented the latter from causing Harry to fall face-first into a puddle of water.

The unfortunate thing was that in a matter of seconds, the entire school was about to walk in on the crime scene and find Harry there as the obvious culprit.

And a part of him had always known it.

Had always known that he should have left the gods of irony unchallenged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is an absurdly long AN, but it was necessary to clear up some things from the last chapter. Apologies for the length but if you were one of the people attempting to point out plot holes, I encourage you to read this.**
> 
> **There are some things I need to clear up in response to the reactions to the last chapter. Some of them I had apparently incorrectly assumed to be self-explanatory, others I had hoped to keep in my back pocket for later, but have decided to reveal now for clarification purposes.**
> 
> **First and foremost, let’s address the concerns that the pensieve laws create plot holes. They really don’t.**
> 
> **A common one I saw is that Skeeter could just share the memory of the meeting. I explained this in the last AN too, but I guess people didn’t read it that carefully, or I just did a rubbish job of explaining it. So here it goes again, in the plainest terms possible.**
> 
> **A pensieve is only permitted to be used in court if the would-be user’s claim is deemed valid first by the court itself prior to the trial. This would not happen in Rita’s case one, because at this point, she would already be looked at as a murderer and two, because Lucius controls a majority of the Wizengamot. Same for other trials, really.**
> 
> **A pensieve can only be used if the court thinks your claim is plausible. This is because the process for using a pensieve is a pain, which I will now get into in order to close the other plot hole everybody keeps bringing up. One more note on Rita specifically, however. She would be accusing a high-ranking member of society of a claim that most would view as outrageous. And even if they did accept her memory, which would never happen for the reasons I have already outlined, it would also show that she murdered Barnabus Cuffe’s ex-wife, since the entire interaction would need to be included in the memory.**
> 
> **People assume memories can be easily altered. First of all, memories can be altered, but to do so without making it blatantly obvious requires a high amount of skill in mind magic that most people simply do not possess. Also, one of the reasons using a pensieve in court is done so sparingly is because it is both logistically challenging and obscenely expensive.**
> 
> **Before the memory is accepted by the court, it is subject to a verification process conducted by the Department of Mysteries. During this process, they will verify to ensure that no alterations have been made, and let’s just say they are very good at their job. This process is ridiculously expensive and it must be independently funded, so that alone prices out most people. Also, glamours would show up as an alteration, because they would trigger an unnaturally high concentration of magic in a given area. Polyjuice would not, but it is extremely expensive to purchase, as are the ingredients required to brew it.**
> 
> **This is a very flawed process, I am not arguing that. I think a lot of you missed the fact that exact truth is the entire point. It’s not meant to be a fair, effective system. This is a country controlled by the corrupt, who seek any advantage they can get. This entire process screams of disadvantaging those of lower standing, but in my opinion, it does not open plot holes.**
> 
> **I am sorry for the absurd length of this AN, but I wanted to speak on this one final time and I do not plan to do so again.**
> 
> **Oh, and I did not forget about Metamorphmagery. That is a whole other can of worms in general that I will be opening quite a bit later.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 26th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors for their assistance this week:**  
>  Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.


	16. Raging Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
> **If you enjoy this story and would like to support me directly, I now have a P A T R E O N page! You are by no means obligated to support me, but for those generous enough to do so, you will be receiving Patron exclusive benefits!**
> 
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_**October 31, 1992  
The Second Floor  
7:54 PM** _

Harry stood rooted to the spot as he heard the vast crowd surging ever closer. In moments, they would be on top of him. In a matter of seconds, everything was about to go very wrong. Rapidly, he tried to think of an escape. A diversion, an explanation, a way in which he could avoid the fate that seemed to be an inevitability.

Unfortunately, he could come up with nothing.

He intuitively knew that fighting the magic that Granger had cast upon him would be useless. Even if he did somehow manage to break it, which he knew would not be the case, he would never get away. She, Weasley or his brother would curse him in the back before he got far. Failing that, judging by how close the oncoming crowd seemed to be, they would round the corner and their eyes would fall on the horror scene before them faster than Harry could make a feasible escape.

Sure enough, the front-most members of the crowd rounded the corner faster than he’d have liked. The ones who did so froze in their tracks at the rather horrific scene that awaited them in a seemingly mundane corridor. Most of the collected students’ eyes leapt immediately to the limp form of the cat and the ominous writing on the wall. While this was true, many students’ eyes did follow Harry. As for the seeming culprit himself, he had no idea what was about to happen. He was only certain of one thing.

If he was fortunate enough to remain at Hogwarts, the fallout from this fiasco was going to be nuclear.

More of the crowd was pouring into the corridor now, spurred on by the screams, gasps and other exclamations of those before them. The corridor was a mess. Those trying to catch sight of the atrocity were forcefully trying to plow through those in front of them. Somehow, as chaos ensued, one voice managed to make itself heard above all of the others, and it was this voice that Harry honed in on, even in his position of peak vulnerability.

“Enemies of the heir, beware. Watch out, mudbloods! You’ll be next!”

If Harry got out of this sticky situation (no pun intended), he decided that teaching Malfoy a lesson and finally being done with warnings had just soared very near to the top of his list of priorities. But at this rate, as the crowd muttered and now began to point, whisper and even started to hurl obscenities towards Harry as they began to grasp what was going on, he suddenly realized exactly how slim his chances of staying at the castle were.

That thought terrified him more than any other. If he was expelled from Hogwarts, where would he go? He would never return to the Dursleys. Of that, at least, he was certain. He would sooner lie about his age and join the muggle military. He would do something, anything, but return to that hell hole.

But the uncertainty and the inevitable unpleasant events that would come along with it terrified him.

Terrified him more, even, than Argus Filch, who was currently rushing towards him with a crazed, murderous look in his eyes. The fact that Harry, still bound and with his feet stuck to the floor would not be able to defend himself against the surging squib was just the icing on the cake.

Before Filch could slam into him, a bluish shield flared between them, and Filch bounced off of the semi-transparent barrier and reared back as if shocked. Emerging from the crowd stepped Calypso and Cassius, both of whom had their wands at the ready. Judging by Calypso’s expression, it had been she who had cast the protective charm. If that same expression was anything to go by, Harry was suddenly more afraid for the health and safety of the Caretaker than he was for himself.

There was also the problem that now, Calypso and Cassius were being semi-vilified by the crowd of onlookers. Just when Harry thought that surely, a full-on riot would break out, there were several bangs, each sounding like a gunshot, accompanied by an equal number of bright, white flashes. They almost resembled muggle flares. Thankfully, they were less potent.

Still, they did achieve the desired effect. That being to draw the animalistic attention of the ascending crowd away from Harry, Filch, Calypso, Cassius and the crime scene, at least for the time being. The crowd was now focused exclusively on the Headmaster, as Dumbledore strode stoically and confidently through the herd of gathered students, followed closely by professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and Lockhart.

The crowd parted for the professors and Dumbledore led all of them straight towards Harry, Charlus, Weasley and Granger. Charlus made to speak up, but Dumbledore initially paid him no mind. He elected to pass them by altogether, gingerly stepping towards the limp cat and removing its form delicately from the torch bracket. The man took a moment to critically examine it before, with a stony visage, he turned to the gathered crowd. He didn’t need a Sonorus charm for those students present to hear him loud and clear.

“All students are to return to their common rooms immediately. A full lockdown will be in effect. I offer my most sincere apologies to those who intended on leaving the castle this evening, but doing so will no longer be possible. Prefects, you will escort your house back to their respective common rooms and take roll. You will report the attendance results to your Heads of House as soon as possible. Do not leave the common room. They will come to you.” Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, the Prefects began to disjointedly herd their houses together and began to martial them all from the corridor.

Only when the crowd had left did Dumbledore turn his hard stare upon Charlus. “Please explain what you believe to have happened tonight?” he asked, his eyes flickering from Charlus to Harry, to the writing on the wall and back again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Filch snarled before Charlus could so much as get a word in. “HE KILLED HER! The bastard killed her! I’ll kill him! I’ll string him up by the ankles and make him beg for death! I’ll… I’ll-“

“Argus, I would kindly ask you to cease levelling death threats upon a student. Martial law will not be tolerated no matter what the events of the night would be. Now, your opinion is noted, but I would like to hear some other perspectives on what may or may not have transpired.” The fact that Dumbledore made no move to lift the binding magic still weighing heavily upon Harry only intensified the young Slytherin’s seemingly perpetual desire to strangle the Headmaster.

“It was him!” Ron exclaimed, pointing furiously at Harry. “We… we heard a commotion and came quick. When we got here, he was already here. He was staring at the wall! Just standing there and when he realized we were here, he looked like he was going to run for it!”

Dumbledore turned his penetrating gaze towards Harry and then back to Charlus and Hermione. “Is this true, Charlus? Miss Granger?”

“That is what it looked like, sir,” Hermione said respectfully, narrowing her eyes at Harry. It looked as if her mere stare might be capable of incinerating his very essence.

Charlus hesitated, a look of great pain coming over his face before very slowly, he nodded. With a flick of Dumbledore’s wand, Harry felt his magical restraints lift. He very nearly ended up on his face, but he managed to right himself. “You will accompany us, Master Potter,” Dumbledore said gravely, fixing Harry with an intense stare that practically froze him in place once more.

“My office is closest, Headmaster,” Lockhart offered, glancing from Dumbledore to Harry. As bad as he knew this must look, Harry was taken aback by the look on Lockhart’s face.

It was brief, but it was very obviously an expression twisted and contorted by poorly masked fury and utter, unquenchable hatred.

Harry would not be receiving Lockhart’s vote of confidence. 

With a nod, Dumbledore politely agreed, ushering the students and professors along. Annoyingly, Hermione, Ron and Charlus kept their wands trained upon Harry the entire walk to Lockhart’s office. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere even if he wanted to. It wasn’t as if he could best the most gifted professors at Hogwarts. Let alone four of them at once, plus Albus Dumbledore, the supposed most powerful sorcerer alive.

Within no time, the rather morbid party of ten quietly entered Lockhart’s office. As Dumbledore strode forward and carefully laid the still immobile body of Mrs. Norris on Lockhart’s desk, the tension in the room grew to unbearable levels. It didn’t help that every few seconds, all of the room’s occupants, except Dumbledore, for now, seemed to be shooting not-so-covert glances in Harry’s general direction. Most of them were outright accusatory, if not furious or loathing. 

A select few were merely curious or calculating, but they were the exceptions.

After nearly burying his nose in the cat’s fur for what felt like ages, Dumbledore slowly straightened up, frowning deeply as he turned to address the cantankerous caretaker. “She is not dead, Argus.”

Harry couldn’t help but be confused by that statement. Not dead? She certainly looked dead. Perhaps she was merely unconscious, but the way she had hung from the bracket, not to mention the blood on the wall…

“She-she’s not?” Filch gasped, his eyes going wide as his body began to shake with what could have been hope, relief or an odd combination of the two.

“No, I am certain of it. For the time being, at least, Mrs. Norris has been petrified.”

“Petrified?” McGonagall asked sharply, eliciting a curt nod from Dumbledore.

“Severus,” the Headmaster asked, beckoning Snape forward, “If you would.” Snape swept forward and withdrew his wand, taking his own turn to examine the cat. He cast numerous, complex spells, some of which seemed to be in languages more ancient than Latin. Additionally, he actually took the time to smell the cat, as well as pressing his ear to her stomach. 

After a time, he too straightened up. “She hasn’t ingested any potions, Headmaster. At least, she has not done so recently.”

“Are there any means you are aware of that may fool the procedure you have carried out, Severus?”

“Yes,” Snape admitted, “But most of them would assuredly see her in a worse state than the one she rests in now.” Dumbledore nodded in understanding and beckoned his Charms Master forth. Flitwick took his own round of examining the furry victim but he too could find nothing.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Lockhart. “Do you know of any magic that may have caused this, Gilderoy?”

“The only magics I know that could have done this would’ve been obvious and easy to identify. The air would have practically been singing with magic.”

Dumbledore nodded. “You and I are of a similar mind then, it seems.”

“How about you ask him?!” Filch screeched, gesturing frantically towards Harry, who flinched almost imperceptibly at the motion. It didn’t help that his brother and his friends still had their wands trained upon him.

“I do not believe Harry to be the culprit, Argus,” Dumbledore answered gently. “No student his age would be capable of magic like this, no matter how prestigious their academic standing.”

“If I may, Headmaster,” Lockhart interjected, “There are ways in which a younger student could have done this. There is no reason he couldn’t have acted indirectly. If the legends about the Chamber of Secrets hold true, he may have only needed to find and open the Chamber. I see no reason why he would have needed to cast any advanced magic to do so.”

Snape scoffed. “Headmasters and Headmistresses have spent centuries seeking Salazar’s secret Chamber, Gilderoy. If it is not blatantly obvious already, none have succeeded. With all respect to Mister Potter, I do not think him capable of doing what Albus Dumbledore and many previous headmasters have thus far failed to accomplish.”

“Respectfully, Severus, I think that’s quite a… narrow-minded way of looking at the situation.”

Snape’s lip curled in distaste. “Do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Lockhart asserted. “If Slytherin was half as cunning in life as his legacy seems to suggest, it makes perfect sense that the Chamber would be much easier to find for those who are his heirs. Maybe even impossible to find if you don’t share his blood.” Lockhart shrugged. “Who’s to say? I can think of ways it could have been done.” Again, Lockhart’s eyes fell upon Harry, and there was obvious malevolence in his gaze. “We have a very clear culprit who was caught red-handed at the scene of the crime. I’m not saying we should just jump to conclusions, but to assume Mister Potter is innocent because of his age is ridiculous!”

“Gilderoy’s point is valid,” Dumbledore conceded. “I very much doubt this supposed ‘Heir of Slytherin’, whomever they might be, cast the direct magic which left Mrs. Norris in her current state. More likely, some prerequisites had to first be completed to set a spiral of events into motion.”

“While your fantastical theories are doubtlessly amusing to bear witness to,” Snape interjected silkily, sarcasm oozing from every syllable, “You have both overlooked a rather obvious hole in your presumptions.”

“And what is that, Severus?” 

“Even if Potter is an Heir of Slytherin, which frankly, I would bet my wages he is not, being able to open a hypothetical Chamber that may or may not exist and knowing how to do so are two entirely different matters. Even if Mister Potter could hypothetically open the Chamber of Secrets, I see no possibility of him knowing how to do so. Doubtlessly, if a Chamber of Secrets exists at all, it is a mystery guarded selfishly by whatever remains of Slytherin’s line. This would mean that however this Chamber might be accessed, it is a family secret that one would likely learn during childhood.” Snape’s jaw tightened. “Seeing as Mister Potter spent his childhood in a mundane, muggle home, the two of you will forgive me if I think it unlikely that the boy has been enlightened on old, family secrets from a line which he likely isn’t connected to in the first place.”

Lockhart looked very much as if he would argue once more, but before he could, Professor McGonagall cut sharply into the conversation. “Severus is right. There is simply no way Mister Potter would have gained access to that information. Unless there is far more proof in the future, I think the idea that he has done this is completely absurd!”

“Hear, hear!” Professor Flitwick seconded in his high, squeaky voice.

Dumbledore nodded pensively. “As much as I do think your theories about the process of these events hold true, Gilderoy, Severus’s logic is rather sound, as I have come to expect over the years of knowing him. Rest assured, your insights will be taken heavily into account during this investigation, but I have a very hard time imagining that Mister Potter is responsible for the night’s atrocities, at present.”

Lockhart’s posture was stiff but he nodded curtly. “Of course, Headmaster. You will… understand, of course, if I run my own investigations into the matter?”

“Why of course. The more experienced eyes that rest watchfully on a problem, the faster the problem will be resolved.”

Lockhart nodded once more, seeming to be satisfied. Harry cast a glance in the direction of Charlus, Ron and Hermione. He knew at once that the three of them were not entirely convinced. Charlus looked more conflicted than outright hostile, but the look on his face was far from friendly. Granger was in a similar state, but Weasley seemed to be having none of the defences put forth by Harry’s Head of House. Not that this was in any way surprising. Though he wouldn’t claim to know much of the boy, Ron Weasley did not strike Harry as the paragon of logic, by any stretch.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore spoke up, “can you kindly escort Miss Granger along with Messers. Potter and Weasley to the Gryffindor common room, please? It may also serve as a rather opportune time to receive your Prefect’s attendance report.” 

“Right away, Albus,” McGonagall intoned, gesturing for the three Gryffindors, who were still shooting wary looks in Harry’s direction to make for the door.

“Um, Headmaster,” Harry interrupted, trying to carefully project his voice to carry nothing but polite innocence. “Can I have my wand back before they leave? Granger has it tucked in the pocket of her robes.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed easily and seconds later, Harry had his wand in hand once more, revelling at the immediate warmth that spread outwards throughout his body upon reconnecting with the wooden implement. Not breaking down while being forcefully restrained had been difficult. He likely wouldn’t have managed it had he not had so much else on his mind. Reconnecting with his wand gave him back the feeling of control he so craved.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said tiredly, “If you could do likewise with Mister Potter as Minerva has done with Charlus and his friends, I would be most appreciative.” With a curt nod, Harry was led from the room by Snape as the two of them began to make their descent down towards the Hogwarts dungeons.

“If you know what is good for you, Potter, you will not repeat your mistakes from last school year.”

Harry frowned, though Snape, still looking straight ahead, could not see it. “How do you mean, sir?”

“Last year, you rushed recklessly and impulsively into a situation which very nearly saw you and your twin killed. For the sake of your health and your public image, I would strongly and sincerely recommend that you stay well clear of this entire debacle as long as it may persist.” 

Harry nodded, actually intent on doing just that. He’d certainly made mistakes last year, but he had no interest in repeating them.

Well, something he was about to do very soon could constitute as repeating a mistake, he supposed, but that was on a far lesser scale. Besides, that situation was very different now. Unlike last year, the deck was stacked firmly in his favour. Unlike last year, he knew that retaliation was not only unlikely, but it would be potentially damning to those who may retaliate.

The main target, in particular.

“Of course, sir,” he said politely, unsure whether or not Snape had picked up on his nod. The man said nothing for the next two minutes but when he spoke, his voice was modulated very carefully. To Harry, it was obvious that every word was being selected with the utmost caution and spoken with rather forced precision.

“You are, in most instances, more than a competent member of Slytherin House. Do not squander your potential by succumbing to the Gryffindor-esque idiocy which seems to have ruled your family for generations.”

This time, it was Harry who deliberated and chose his next words with a high degree of caution. “Thank you for the advice, sir. I’ll do my best to learn from my mistakes and do better in the future.”

_**Ten minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

When Harry had re-entered the common room with Snape, he had never felt more intense stares follow him. For his part, he too looked around, but the person whom he sought did not seem to be present. 

Neither, it seemed, were those who seemed to commonly associate with him.

Harry glided over towards his friends as discreetly as he could. He took a seat beside Daphne, the furthest left-most seat available on the large sofa. To his right, with room to spare, sat Daphne, Blaise and Tracey. On the sofa directly across from them, Charlotte sat with Ginny and Laine.

As soon as Snape left the room, Daphne immediately rounded on Harry. Before she could begin asking her inevitable stream of questions, Harry’s wand was in his hand as he ensured his typical privacy measures (the Muffliato charm and human-detection ward) were in place. Only when he was sure both had taken did he allow Daphne to begin her questioning of him.

“Harry, what happened? Did you see whoever wrote on the wall and hung the cat from the torch bracket?”

“Yeah,” Tracey continued, “did they chase you there, or something? Why were you there? And what were the lions doing there? And what happened when-“

“Let him breathe, you two,” Blaise cut in rather sharply, glancing between Harry and the two girls who seemed intent on starting a formal interrogation. For her part, Charlotte, who sat directly across from Harry, had also looked as if she might jump in, as her eyes had narrowed the more questions were thrown at Harry all at once. Looking a bit abashed, the two girls quieted and waited for Harry’s answers.

They did not come immediately, as he sat back, pondering the night’s events and choosing his words very carefully as his eyes kept up their steady sweeps of the common room.

“I have no idea who petrified the cat and wrote on the wall. It might have even been more than one person, for all I know. I’m assuming it was the same person or people who did both, but even that could be wrong. I… heard a commotion and thought I would investigate. Obviously, I did so carefully. I used my ring, so nobody could actually see me at the time.” 

He winced. “The problem with that is that it only keeps me invisible as long as I can hold my breath. And apparently, my brother and his two sidekicks weren’t far behind me. I barely had time to realize what was going on before they came sprinting into the corridor, wands drawn and ready to be heroes.” He sneered. “They didn’t even give me the chance to explain. Before I knew it, I’d been bound, stuck to the floor and disarmed before I could even move.”

Reflecting on that, Harry thought he would have to come up with some creative way of getting Granger back for the incident. He had the impression she intensely disliked him. Probably because he was the only one who consistently outscored her in almost every single class. If he left that jab unanswered, she might get the wrong idea and think that he was actually conceding his position to her. Which was not and would never happen.

There was also the fact that had his brain not been focused on the night’s more pressing matters and therefore suitably distracted, he would likely be panicking at the feeling of helplessness he had been subjected to.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Daphne hissed, clearly furious with him judging by the tone of her voice and the way her sapphire eyes flashed dangerously.

He hadn’t been quite as idiotic as he led his friends to believe. He had not, as he’d said, chased after a commotion. In fact, he had been trying to get away from whatever the hell had been speaking of murder and dismemberment. 

The problem was, he had no interest in explaining how he had actually wound up alone in that corridor. His friends were, if nothing else, logical people. He had no idea how they would react to somebody hearing seemingly disembodied voices. Years of being alone and friendless had left their mark on Harry. After one year of exploring the beautiful alternative to how he had lived the last ten years of his life, he had no intention of turning back. The thought of turning back scared him, and he would avoid it at all costs. Better his friends think him idiotic and at times reckless as oppose to mad and possibly unstable.

“I didn’t expect it to be something like that. I figured it would just be some students pulling a prank or something. I thought if I was lucky, I might even be able to catch the Terrors in the middle of something. Maybe either ambush them while I was invisible or sell them out to a teacher. Not sure which one would be more satisfying, to be honest.”

“I thought you told Calypso you were going to leave that be,” Daphne remembered with narrowed eyes. “She said it wasn’t worth the risk, remember?”

“Well yes, but I was invisible. I had no plans of getting seen by them.”

Daphne opened her mouth again, probably to forcefully warn him of such actions when Harry stiffened. Draco Malfoy and his group of followers had just strode back into the common room, presumably returning from their dormitory. 

_“Enemies of the heir, beware. Watch out, mudbloods! You’ll be next!”_ Harry remembered.

In his estimation, he had granted Draco enough warnings. So far, he had retaliated to the usage of that slur with petty retorts. An admittedly painful but relatively harmless boil potion and forceful threats. If he was willing to shout the slur for the entire school to hear, something more forceful and direct would be required. Going off what he knew of the boy already, Harry could think of two tools that could potentially be of use. Even more so if they were appropriately used in conjunction with one another.

Fear and public humiliation.

Draco was, at his core, an extremely arrogant, self-centred boy filled with delusions of grandeur. Self-preservation was surely a strong motivator. That was, after all, why he had stopped antagonizing Harry after the dragon incident, he was sure. That instinct had probably come into play after threats by his father if Harry had to guess. And with Draco’s pride and upbringing, public humiliation was probably quite near the top of the Malfoy Heir’s list of worst-case scenarios.

Ordinarily, Harry would have devised an effective and probably convoluted plan of attack. Tonight was different. For one thing, he was just done with Draco Malfoy. He had been done with Draco Malfoy a very long time ago, in fact. To make matters worse, this had been an exceedingly long and stressful day. His moodiness, anger and somewhat remaining feelings of helplessness bubbled inside him, and he felt something snap. Presumably, whatever it was inside of a person which allowed them a modicum of restraint.

Oh, and there was the whole fact that it was the anniversary of the night his life had gone to shit. Understandably, that alone had Harry in a piss-poor mood and left him impatient and short-tempered. 

Combined with everything else that happened tonight, the stress that he had allowed to mildly corrupt his mental state and his general disdain for Draco Malfoy, it really was the perfect storm to set Harry off.

That was not to say he’d be foolish. Perception was power, after all. Particularly in a house as brutal and politically dependent as Slytherin. Harry was going to strike Draco hard, but he would still try to do so intelligently. His hastily-formed idea, if all went to plan, would still have Draco looking like the antagonist, which would hopefully get the blond in even deeper shit with his father.

Fortunately, the world seemed to have decided that he had been cursed with enough misfortune for one night.

The path Draco took, obviously trying to score seats near the fire, had him walking directly in front of the lounge, where Grace and her friends were seated. Discreetly, Harry slid his wand into his hand once more, his eyes focused intensely on Draco. 

Charlotte was the first to realize something was about to happen, which was not surprising. Her eyes narrowed and sought his own. Soon after her, Daphne too took notice. “Harry?” she asked as he dispelled the privacy measures around them. “What are you doing?”

“Sending a message,” he said in a voice low enough not to carry. Then, just as Draco and his friends were walking past the lounge, Harry struck, praying to whatever force that seemed to be granting him a small, modicum of luck that his timing was on point.

It was.

Just as Draco walked in front of Grace, Harry’s well-aimed tripping jinx hit him whilst he was in mid-stride. The odd timing of the curse threw him completely off-balance, and Draco fell — straight on top of Grace. More precisely, most of Draco fell right into the Head Girl’s lap. His face, however, smacked straight into her chest region, causing her to wince and shove the younger boy forcefully off of her, sending him roughly to the floor, where he sat, flushing a shade of red that any Weasley would doubtlessly be envious of.

Before Draco got his bearings, Grace’s eyes rapidly searched the common room. Unlike her younger sister, she did manage to meet Harry’s eyes. Though he doubted she employed Legilimency of any kind, Harry did not doubt that Grace knew exactly who had caused Malfoy to make a fool of himself, and exactly who had knowingly made her a part of it.

If not for his searing anger, Harry would have winced. He had never seen Grace truly upset before. For his sake, he sincerely hoped that did not change. He had no idea what her ire would be like or how, in his case, it would manifest itself. Frankly, he had absolutely no desire to find out.

His dread at potential repercussions was cut short when Malfoy stumbled to his feet, quickly casting his grey-eyed stare frantically around the common room. Knowing that Malfoy’s eyes would find him, Harry allowed a minute smirk to adorn his features, hoping that, in his current state, it would be enough to enrage the Malfoy Heir. Judging by the fact that by now, Malfoy looked as if literal steam would soon begin to billow from his ears, Harry liked his chances.

Sure enough, not seconds later, Malfoy’s gaze found Harry, and his face contorted in pure, unadulterated hatred.

As much as Harry would like to strike Malfoy before the blond could arm himself, that would sort of ruin his self-defense story. Perception was important, especially if he did not wish to be vilified by the older pureblood students. His position on the house team would afford him protection, to a point, but he imagined that cursing a fellow teammate and an heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House would seriously challenge that natural protection.

After training with some of the most gifted students at Hogwarts and even the Dark Lady herself, Harry found an enraged Draco Malfoy to be less than intimidating. Indeed, he was more than confident that he need not fire the first spell to win the inevitable battle.

When Malfoy did indeed fire the first spell, he conjured the Protego shield, assuring in the process that none of his friends were caught in the crossfire. 

Once Malfoy made his opening move, Harry leapt to his feet and allowed his shield to dissipate. Looking to press the advantage, Malfoy fired off another curse, one that made Harry’s eyes widen.

“Exoculatus!”

Harry had intended to deflect whatever spell Malfoy was about to fire towards him. As it turned out, he had obviously underestimated Malfoy. Of course, he knew his own spell arsenal would still be far superior to Draco’s, but suddenly, he was mentally kicking himself for not at least dipping his toe into the Dark Arts. Evidently, in Draco’s case, daddy dearest had assured that his precious, pureblood heir was armed with some rather nasty tools. Harry wondered just how many other pureblood heirs from Conservative families that would be the case for.

So instead of blocking, Harry sidestepped. He had stepped away from the sofas his friends still occupied by now, so none of them were caught in the crossfire. 

As admittedly impressed as Harry had been by Draco’s surprisingly sadistic spell selection, it did not change how badly the blonde had just royally botched this situation. Harry had already been in a piss-poor mood. Now, Draco had attempted to curse him with something truly foul. 

Now, he was incensed — truly and indisputably pissed off.

Harry fired off three spells in quick succession, chaining them together so only one incantation was required. The first spell, Expelliarmus, was merely used in hopes that Draco would dodge. He did. The second spell, Diffindo, was used in hopes that Draco, still being a bit off-balance from his earlier movement, would conjure the basic, Aegis Vocar shield. Harry was fairly confident that would be the only shield charm Draco knew of. It was. And finally, Harry fired a stunner, knowing that Draco would realize his shield wouldn’t hold and dive hastily in the opposite direction. At that point, Draco would likely be off-balance once more, and very probably would not be expecting a fourth spell on the end of the chain. Least of all from a mere second year.

Unfortunately for Draco, he wasn’t dealing with a typical second year.

Harry’s well placed and perfectly set-up banishing hex caught Draco in mid-dive, hurling him through the air and causing him to slam so hard into the smooth stone wall of the common room that those nearest the fallen second year could actually hear the cracking of his ribs. If the boy had thought Harry’s overpowered knockback jinx had been painful in the changing rooms, then this certainly gave him a new perspective.

The banishing hex was, for one thing, more potent than the knockback jinx. One could hurl objects at much higher speeds with it. Beyond that, it allowed for more control as to where exactly the object was being hurled. Flipendo, or the knockback jinx, simply sent an object hurtling backwards. The banishing hex allowed the caster to direct the flight of the object. 

So naturally, Harry picked the wall which would place Malfoy in the plainest view of those gathered in the common room.

The impact was such that Malfoy slumped to the floor, not only winded but also dazed. His wand seemed to have fallen from his hand, and Harry stocked slowly towards him with a completely blank expression and an almost hungry look in his vivid green eyes.

“Impulsum!” 

Harry chained three bludgeoning curses together in quick succession, now acutely aware of the undiverted attention the rest of the common room was paying him. 

He could not have cared less.

On the contrary, he wanted them to see. He wanted them to see exactly how he obliterated Malfoy, here and now. Beyond the fact that public humiliation was going to be a fantastic way to get his point across to his chosen target, Harry hoped it would also serve as a message, at least to the younger years.

His first bludgeoning curse was well-aimed. It impacted hard against Draco’s kneecap with the blunt force of a brass-knuckled punch. Harry knew instinctively that he could have done more damage. If he overcharged the spell, he could probably have exuded the force of the swing of a baseball bat. But in his hazy mind tainted by rage, he had just enough control left to realize that serious, long-term injuries probably weren’t a good idea.

Anything that could be quickly healed by magic was fair game, in his opinion.

With this in mind, his second bludgeoning curse, which struck Draco in the ribs, had perhaps a bit more power than the first, though still not too near to its true potential. His third bludgeoning curse, however, had far less punch behind it. That’s because the area which Harry was aiming for was rather sensitive. In an almost sadistic, self-satisfied manner, Harry internally thanked Voldemort, as odd as that thought sounded, for making him spend hours and hours working on his accuracy alone. If she hadn’t, he may never have actually been able to hit Draco in the throat.

As soon as that curse impacted, Harry could practically feel the energy in the common room shift. For his part, the blond clutched desperately at his throat, struggling to breathe. Judging his own magic, Harry intuitively knew that no long-term damage had been done. It was the equivalent of a punch to the upper throat. His Adam’s apple was certainly not appreciative, and it was letting him know it, but he was not at any risk of suffocating to death, or any such extreme.

As Draco struggled to raise his hands to his throat, Harry’s wand was already moving in its next motion. By now, it was just himself, his magic and Draco. 

Nothing else mattered. This was simply about proving a point.

“Lacero.”

He made sure to aim the “dark” cutting curse towards Draco’s shoulder, since he was pretty sure if enough intent was put behind the spell and its aim was true, it could take a limb. Perhaps that could be healed with magic, but Harry had no idea and was in no mood to test his luck. The spell opened a deep wound in Draco’s shoulder, and blood quickly began to rush from said wound. 

At this point, Daphne was halfway to her feet, realizing that her friend was in the same mental state he’d been in the day Tracey had been setup. The same mental state that had seen the need arise for her to forcefully drag him away from Malfoy, lest he do something drastic. She realized that he wasn’t going to stop until somebody forced him to stop. Blaise immediately took hold of her arm and pulled her back down, muttering something along the lines of how insane she was to get in between that. Charlotte seemed to agree with Daphne, but she made no move to stand.

For one, Harry would at least, for the most part, let Daphne touch him. The same was not always true for Charlotte. And for two, she knew without having to test the theory that she would be unable to actually stop him if Harry did not wish to be stopped. Speaking once more of Daphne, realizing that her friends were not going to allow her to intervene, she started casting not-so-subtle glances in Grace’s general direction, hoping that the Head Girl would step in on her behalf. Charlotte, after the Lacero curse had been cast, began to do the same. Grace looked very much as if she were about to step in when Harry cast his next spell.

“Flagrete.”

A thin tendril of fire protruded from his wand, licking hungrily at the hem of Draco’s robe and causing the fabric to ignite. Draco screamed openly now. He tried to roll to put it out but between his damaged kneecap as well as his several bruised and several broken ribs, it was not an easy task. For his part, completely lost in the haze of red that was his reality, Harry was already raising his wand to cast his next spell. 

But he never got to cast it, and though Grace was, by now, halfway to her feet, it was not she who stopped him.

A hand forcefully closed around Harry’s wand arm and it pulled it down, just as the figure’s other hand reached over Harry’s far shoulder and cast a jet of water towards Malfoy. Harry struggled to pull his arm free but before he could do much, his assailant had hit him with a mild paralysis hex. It wasn’t a full-body-bind, nor was it even permanent. The effects would last for a minute or two if not countered. It was simply designed so that the figure, whom Harry realized a second later to be Calypso Rosier, could wrap an arm around Harry’s waist and haul him from the common room before the situation could escalate further. Again, Daphne made to pursue Harry. This time, it was Charlotte’s stare and a subtle shake of the head that halted her, which allowed Blaise to pull her down once more.

Calypso got Harry several corridors down and into an empty classroom and then warded and locked the door before she made a move to free Harry from his temporary paralysis. Even then, she levelled him with a hard stare before she cast any such counter. When she finally released him, Harry slumped against the wall, breathing fast and heavily as he tried to pull the raging tumult of emotions which was assaulting his mind under control

The pent up anger he had released in his attack on Draco was still crashing against his mind, if admittedly far less intensely now that the blond was out of his sight. Additionally, he did not take well to being paralyzed once, let alone twice. It reminded him far too forcefully of long, painful nights and the oppressive helplessness he always felt during them. It was a reminder of much darker times and even when Calypso’s spell had been lifted, Harry was so tense that it may well have still been in effect.

Calypso had expected Harry to snap at once upon his release. She had even lifted her wand in a defensive posture, prepared to defend herself against anything her youngest friend may have forcefully thrown at her. What she was not ready for was for Harry to slump against the wall with his eyes closed as he slowly began to pull his deep, ragged breathing under control. Calypso had no idea how to react, for she wasn’t exactly sure what had triggered this reaction.

Her eyes darkened as a possibility flashed through her imagination. He had been unable to respond to her letters for the first month of the summer holidays and when talks of home had arisen within their group, he had always stayed peculiarly quiet. Perhaps now, she was getting a look into why?

“Harry?” she asked tentatively, still ready to defend herself if he snapped. Instead of snapping, he reacted almost imperceptibly, nodding his head to indicate that he heard her even though he did not look up or open his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” His answer came far too quickly. Calypso knew at once it was a lie, but she decided not to press him on it. Instead, she sought to divert the conversation back to what had happened before the paralysis spell. It was perhaps a more dangerous topic of conversation, but judging by his reactions, it was likely a less painful one.

“Would you be willing to talk about what happened in the common room with Malfoy?” 

Harry took one last deep breath, thanking Merlin and Morgana for Occlumency as he finally opened his eyes and looked up to meet his older friend’s stare. If not for the mental control he was slowly gaining as a result of the Mind Arts, he would likely have been a shivering wreck right about now, similar to the state he had been in upon freeing himself from his bindings the night before he flipped the dragon debacle on its head. He was probably still going to be a shivering wreck as soon as he acquired some privacy, but that was best left unsaid.

“Yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” Harry said distractedly, focusing back on her. 

“Malfoy?” Calypso prompted.

“Right,” Harry muttered, a rather ugly looking scowl crossing his face, “Him.” He shrugged. “I was done with warning shots.”

Calypso raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“I’ve let him get off easy so far. I cost him some money and roughed him up a bit in the changing room after we had a run-in with the Gryffindors. I gave him enough chances. This was sending a message. It was hopefully the last time I’ll have to remind him to keep his mouth closed.”

“And what did he say to you, exactly?”

“It wasn’t what he said to me. I don’t appreciate that slur. Anybody who throws it around is on my shit list.”

Calypso looked pensive. “I’m not advocating for the term,” she prefaced, “but what is it that bothers you so much about it? You’re not a muggleborn.”

Harry actually had to think very deeply about that. “Blood supremacy is nonsense,” he said after a time. “I’m sorry if that offends you, but it’s true. Dumbledore might be a wanker, but he’s probably the most powerful wizard alive right now. And he’s a halfblood.” Harry hesitated. “I would bet a good bit of my inheritance that the Dark Lady was no pureblood either.”

Calypso’s eyes widened. Harry had chosen not to refer to her as Voldemort, having no idea how that would go over. He was not certain as to her father’s loyalties. Her mother, however, had died in a Death Eater raid, and she had not been an Auror. That was enough, in Harry’s opinion, to call into question the loyalty of the Rosier family. As such, he chose to tread rather carefully in regards to how exactly he addressed Voldemort.

“What makes you say that?” Calypso asked quietly, not giving away her feelings on the matter one way or the other.

“If she were a pureblood, she wouldn’t hide behind a fake name. For one thing, she would probably be proud of her heritage, especially if she went around preaching blood purist nonsense. And for two, it would be to her advantage if she was from some family with an important Wizengamot seat.” He scowled. “But yes, the whole concept is utter nonsense. I’m so sick of getting sneered at being my mother was a muggleborn even though I’ve outperformed every single person who spends their time sneering at me. It’s pathetic. My mother might have something to do with the reason why I hate that word so much. Don’t ask me why. I know it doesn’t make sense since I’ve never met her, but…” his voice trailed off.

“It makes perfect sense, Harry,” Calypso assured him. “You don’t have to explain that. I was just… curious. After what Malfoy did to Davis last year, I’m not surprised you went after him. It was well done, too. Just… be very careful not to look as if you’re going after prestigious, pureblood heirs. That would probably be a very bad idea.”

Harry nodded sagely. “I know. He started the fight, which was exactly how I planned it.”

Calypso smirked. “Nice touch, that. I doubt Weitts will bother with a second year, either. So even if she realizes who did it, it’s unlikely she’ll do anything about it. All in all, very well done.” She paused. “But between the two of us, learn something painful other than a bludgeoning curse, will you?”

Harry nodded carefully. “I’ve… looked into the addiction thing we talked about.”

“And?”

“I think you’re right about it, but I want to check at least one more source first.”

Calypso’s lips twitched. ‘Check as many as you like, Harry. Just tell me if you’d like any help along the way.”

“Thanks, Calypso. I’ll keep it in mind.

__**November 1, 1992**  
The Slytherin Common Room  
6:12 AM 

When Harry woke up the morning after Samhain, he felt the exact opposite of well-rested. When reflecting on the previous night, he decided that he had not slept so poorly in ages. Dreams had not been kind to him that night. Dreams of being expelled from Hogwarts, petrified and hung on a torch bracket, and even disappearing in a flash of vivid green light, and something soft and oddly comforting running through his hair. Perhaps the touch of Death right before it took him away?

Harry woke up a bit later than usual, probably in light of his dreams. Showering quickly, he exited the dorms wearing his school bag and intent on occupying the room that Voldemort had set up the year before in the dungeons. He had Calypso’s birthday present within the bag. It was not explicitly labelled as a book that dealt with the Dark Arts, but Harry knew that there would be some very questionable curses in that text. She had made a rather apt point last night. When faced with a situation where he wanted to do true harm but not cripple the individual, he was rather limited in what he could do.

It was time to fix that.

As he neared the common room, Harry quickly realized via the magic of his ring that he was not the first Slytherin to rise that morning. For a moment, he suspected that Grace might be waiting for him. Whatever Calypso had said about her not getting involved in lower year drama, she didn’t realize the relationship that Harry shared with the Weitts Heiress. Perhaps she was waiting to tear a strip off him for involving her in his power play with Malfoy, who had been sent to the Hospital Wing after Harry had been dragged from the room.

It said quite a lot about Slytherin House that Harry had not been implicated in any way, shape or form. They stuck very true to one of their few, unwritten rules.

What happens in the dungeons stays in the dungeons.

When Harry did enter the common room seconds later, he was not entirely surprised at who awaited him, even though it was not, as he had suspected, Grace.

“Morning, Daphne,” he greeted cautiously, immediately aware of how her sapphire eyes had honed onto him as soon as he entered the room. Daphne never had trouble rising early enough to make it to breakfast, but she also very rarely awoke any earlier than was strictly necessary. Harry suspected this had something to do with the night before. He had a sense of déjà vu as he remembered what had happened the last time she waited for him in the common room at this time of the morning. That had been the day, early in their first year, when Harry had first opened up to Daphne.

“Morning, Harry. Do you fancy a walk?”

Truthfully, that hadn’t been on Harry’s list of things to do. “If you’ll walk through the dungeons, then sure.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow. “You say ‘if’ as though I’m afraid of the dungeons.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “You never know. It’s not like you were ever interested in exploring the castle with me.”

“That’s because most of that time is probably wasted.”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Always have done.”

Harry snorted as the two of them exited the common room and began to make their way down into the depths of the Hogwarts dungeons. This was the first time in ages that Harry hadn’t used the secret passage concealed behind a suit of armour. He suspected this conversation would be taxing and take time, so he decided that taking the long route would be best.

They had been walking for two minutes when Daphne finally spoke. “So, what made you do it last night?”

Knowing this question was coming, Harry had his answer ready. “I was done with Malfoy. I wasn’t going to put up with him anymore. I had fired too many warning shots and he hadn’t got the hint.”

She nodded. “He deserved it,” Daphne said harshly. “He deserved every bit of it, and I want you to know that before I say anything else.”

“I know I went too far,” Harry said quietly. That had also been a part of his dreams last night. Mercilessly reigning magical hell down upon an opponent and not being able to stop.

“You didn’t,” Daphne defended him, “but you would have.” Harry nodded solemnly. There was no denying it; it was the truth. “It was like that day when Malfoy framed Tracey. Do you remember what you told me about Malfoy?”

“I’ll kill him,” Harry quoted, knowing full well that Daphne was perfectly aware of the fact that he remembered every word spoken in that conversation.

“You meant it, didn’t you?”

There was a long pause in which Harry tried to formulate an honest answer to that question. In the end, he decided on complete transparency. “I don’t know.”

Daphne slowed their pace and looked at him again. “Explain that. What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what I would have done. It… wouldn’t have been pretty. I definitely wanted to hurt him very badly at that point. I would like to think I would have stopped before it got to that point, but I’m… not sure if I actually would have or not.” His eyes darkened. “If not for Calypso, I have no idea how far I would have gone last night.”

“Can I ask you a more personal question?”

Harry laughed almost bitterly. “Daphne, you know things about me I had never planned to tell anyone until the day I died. At this point, there is nothing more damning or embarrassing than what you already know.”

Daphne frowned. “How is it embarrassing?”

Harry took a minute to ponder that. “I act well,” he stated, “I always have. I’ve had to; it was never an option. Because of that, I don’t think you realize how far out of my depth I feel around people like you and Charlotte.” When Daphne tensed, Harry raised his hand. “Not because of anything either of you does. It’s just… you both practically come from magical royalty. From birth, you both probably had anything and everything you ever wanted. You had friends, luxuries and everything in between. Since you could talk, you knew about magic. You’ve spent your life learning the ins and outs of magic, the world, politics — all of it.

“Then there’s me. I was abandoned by my father, who could have given me the same life. I was shoved away with muggles who hated me and hated magic. I was kept in the dark and given nothing. Everything I had, I took. And if I was caught with it, I would lose it.” He took a deep, calming breath. “I’ve seen your houses, both yours and the Weitts family’s. If you can even call them houses.” Again, a long, deep breath. “The room you saw when we left Privet Drive — the one with the bars on the windows, that wasn’t always my room. Until I was ten, I slept in a boot cupboard.” Daphne’s sharp intake of breath vaguely registered in Harry’s mind, but he did not stop.

“Whilst you and Charlotte were learning how to run the world one day, I was busy getting kicked around by muggles who don’t even matter. That’s why it’s embarrassing, Daphne. I came to Hogwarts knowing nothing. I was so ignorant; I probably still am. I was so much less than you, or Charlotte, or Grace or Calypso or whoever else you want to compare me to-“

“Stop it!” Daphne’s voice was not loud, per se. In saying that, it was forceful. Shockingly so, even. Enough so that Harry immediately stopped talking, even before he felt Daphne’s vice-like grip close on his hand.

“Stop talking, Harry. This is ridiculous, all of it! I completely understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about any of it, but this is exactly why you should. You get these crazy ideas in your head that are so backwards. You think you’re less than me and Charlotte because of the fact our parents had money and your father is a good-for-nothing tosser? That’s rubbish! That’s the exact thing Malfoy would say! That’s exactly why you stood up to him in the first place. It’s exactly why you defended Tracey. It’s exactly why every time he’s said the word ‘mudblood’, you’ve ruined his life.” When Harry’s grip on her hand tightened for a fraction of a second, Daphne rolled her eyes. “Don’t think the house hasn’t noticed, Harry. I know you wanted to send a message and you know what? It worked. I doubt anybody under the fourth year will be saying that word anywhere near you anytime soon.”

“It’s more than that though,” Harry said softly, ignoring the last part of Daphne’s statement. 

“How?”

He struggled and grasped for words. “While I was trying not to get kicked around like a football by my cousin, you, Charlotte, Calypso, Pansy, Weitts, hell, even Black, Nott and Malfoy were living like kings and queens. I’ve put in so much time to catch up, but there are still times when I feel so far behind. Not in classes,” he interjected before Daphne could interrupt, “but in the world. In life.” He shook his head. “It’s like last night; that sums it up. I’m good with books and I don’t miss much when it comes to magic. But I wasn’t raised with morals. I don’t understand my own emotions, let alone other people’s. I have no concept of what too far is. I’ve always done what I could get away with. I’ve always done whatever it takes.”

Silence stretched towards the duo, paused in the same corridor that they had shared their first heartfelt discussion more than a year ago. Neither of them noticed, as they were too completely fixated on their conversation. Still, it was odd how the world worked sometimes.

Glancing around the corridor to assure that the two of them were alone, Daphne tentatively reached towards Harry, as if to hug him. By this point, Harry tolerated being touched by Daphne. Hugs were still not something he was accustomed to, but he was too numb and lost in memories to protest at that moment. Having been prepared for it, he did not stiffen quite as drastically as he might have on most other occasions.

Daphne smiled as she pulled him closer to her, rubbing at his back in an oddly soothing manner. “See? You’re already getting better. Last year, you almost jumped out of your skin when I did this. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Getting better? And I don’t think you realize how amazing you actually are, Harry.”

“You’re better than me,” Harry muttered. “I’m better at magic, but not the rest. Stuff like emotions, morals… I don’t know. But it’s that sort of thing that’s important in life sometimes. I have no compass. What use is intelligence without a compass?”

“But don’t you get it, Harry? Don’t you see how much further ahead of all of us you’ll be when you figure that out?”

Harry scowled bitterly. “I might never figure that out. I spent ten years having those things trained out of me.”

“You will figure it out. Just like you’ve figured out everything else along the way. You’re right. People like me, Charlotte and Malfoy had every advantage over you we could imagine. And you know what? You’re already the top student in the year. Maybe the top student Hogwarts has ever seen. And unlike Granger and some others, you haven’t just devoured textbooks. You actually understand how the world works. You understand how the world is actually run, you understand how to act in it, for the most part. The little things that aren’t in books are things you’ll learn in time. You’re too smart not to. 

“Don’t you get it, Harry? You came from all of that rubbish and you’ve evolved. You’ve taken everything in and learned it, grown from it. You’re going to do the same thing here, I know you are. Just like you did with magic. There’s a reason people flock to you. There’s a reason why you lead-“

“I don’t lead anything,” Harry interrupted. “We’re equals; all of us.”

“I know we are, but you know as well as I do that you’re what holds it together. You’re why Parkinson treats Tracey decent and fits into the group. You’re why Blaise didn’t go and join Malfoy and his thugs. Because both of them realized you were the better option. Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say, my family had something to do with it too. But if they wanted me so badly, they could have tried to make friends with me right away. 

“We’ll always be your friends, Harry. We’re not going to turn into mindless followers or anything, but you are the leader. It’s never been said, but it doesn’t have to be.” She smiled. “Those are the little, social cues you miss. But that doesn’t mean we won’t help. You’re so good at everything else that until you figure the rest of it out, we’ll happily be your compass.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He hated the fact emotion was seizing him and could not wait until he would be readily able to suppress it with Occlumency.

But for now, he allowed his head to rest on Daphne’s shoulder. He allowed himself six long seconds of weakness, granting himself three deep breaths in and three out, all the while taking in the slightly flowery, sweet scent of her hair.

When he looked up, he had managed to compose himself once more, and he slowly stepped away from the embrace. “Thanks, Daphne,” he said as sincerely as he could manage. “I’ll hold you all to that.”

_**Two hours later, at Potter Manor…** _

James had been rather happy with his Sunday morning, thus far. Sunday was, after all, the only day he usually had off. He had treated himself to a bit of a lie-in and had been having an enjoyable breakfast with Peter until the owl flew through the window. Initially, noticing that it was a Hogwarts owl, James suspected it to be from Charlus. But when he noticed the familiar, loopy handwriting of his one-time Headmaster, he grew concerned.

However concerned he had been, nothing could have prepared him for the contents of the letter.

His son and heir had been found at the scene of a crime connected to Salazar Slytherin himself. There was no proof implicating him and, by logical thought, it was unlikely to be him. 

Dumbledore’s request weighed heavily on him.

_I doubt it is a possibility you have ever considered, but I would be profoundly grateful if you run a thorough background check on your family’s ancestry. I would like to be as sure as possible that there is no relation close enough to Salazar that may implicate your son as a potential suspect._

_I have seen the muggles whom he lived with and would not be at all surprised if he has developed a rather justified disdain for them and their offspring. Of course, I did not mention this last night, but it is something to be taken into consideration…_

James could hardly believe the request. It was so absurd to him that he almost wrote back telling Dumbledore how ridiculous that possibility even was. But he supposed if it was so ridiculous, he could indulge the old man.

The more troubling thing, for James, was Harry’s childhood. If Dumbledore was to be believed, he may very well have reasons to despise his relatives. This seemed as opportune a time as ever to find out once and for all.

Especially with the DMLE’s top detective seated not feet from him.

“Peter,” James said carefully, “I… have a favour to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am nervous about the second-to-last scene since that interaction took me more drafts than I would care to admit, so I do hope it turned out well.**
> 
> **The next chapter will take us up to the end of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. From there, the pace will speed up significantly until the end of the Yule break.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 3rd, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
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> ****
> 
> ****Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors for their assistance with this chapter:** **
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> ****
> 
> ****
> 
> ****Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc.**   
>  **


	17. Snitches and Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**November 1, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
8:07 PM** _

Since the petrification of Mrs. Norris on Samhain, much of the school had willingly self-isolated themselves in the safety afforded to them by their password-protected common rooms and dormitories. For Harry Potter, this had meant a mostly peaceful existence with sporadic dirty glances mixed in now and again from those few students who had actually been brave enough to venture outside of the confines of their common rooms.

For Harry, this had been perfectly acceptable. It had meant that he had a rather productive day. After his rather emotionally charged conversation with Daphne, he’d spent quite a lot of the day practicing magic on his own time. Then, he had spent several hours exploring the castle. This was a practice he had thoroughly enjoyed partaking in during his first year, but one he had neglected thus far for much of his second. Except, of course, for Samhain night, when he had quite literally walked into the worst-case scenario. Harry was exceptionally careful as he navigated the halls of Hogwarts that next day, seeing as that memory was fresh in his mind.

To finish off his day, he had a rather busy night. Calypso, Cassius, the Carrows and himself had missed their duelling practice the night before due to the Halloween feast. In light of that, they made it a mission of theirs to make up for it the next night. Where this became murky, for Harry, was that he also had to meet with Grace. Luckily, he had convinced his group of fifth-year friends to start earlier than normal. Still, he had to come up with a convenient excuse to slip out early and slide down the hall, taking the nearest known passage that would expedite his journey down into the Hogwarts dungeons.

He wasn’t naive enough to assume that none of his friends suspected anything. That was the one downside about befriending sharp, intelligent people. They were rather hard to deceive. None of them made a fuss though, so Harry was, for now, not in danger.

Well, that statement wasn’t true.

Seeing as butterflies seemed to beat hard against the innards of his stomach as he remembered just how he had sent Malfoy tumbling into a rather… sensitive area of Grace’s body less than twenty-four hours earlier, Harry suspected he might have been in a great deal of danger. Just not from the friends whom he had recently departed from. 

When the door to the classroom they often frequented came into view, Harry reflected that he had never been this anxious to enter this particular room. When, in hindsight, he considered how many hours he had spent locked up in the said room with the most feared dark sorceress perhaps of all time, that was saying a lot. It didn’t help his matter when, as he cast Tempus, still in mid-stride, he realized that he was more than five minutes late.

It was the first time he had ever been late to a session with Grace, and Harry suspected he had picked the absolute worst night to make that unfortunate miscalculation. Pulling his emotions under control as he stood in front of the door, Harry reached out for the handle, blanking his expression as he knocked three times before pushing the door aside and stepping into the familiar, well-lit room.

Grace was already present, which Harry had expected. What was more surprising to him was the fact that she didn’t seem to be irritatedly waiting for him. In fact, she seemed to be paying the door no mind. She had transfigured part of the wall into a large, full-body mirror. It seemed, to Harry, like she was having a rather intense staring match with her reflection. She was so lost in whatever she was doing, that until the door closed softly, she didn’t even seem to notice that Harry had entered the room.

When she heard the sound, she quickly withdrew her wand. With a swift, intricate motion, the well-polished, glass mirror morphed back into solid, seemingly ancient stone. To any who entered the room in the future, they would never realize that at one time, the stone had been anything other than what faced them. Grace’s next move was to quickly cast the Tempus spell, making Harry wince imperceptibly. When her eyebrows knit together, he really thought he was in for it. Then, her next words took him completely and wholly aback.

“Earlier than I expected, actually.”

Harry almost stammered, but he caught himself at the last possible second. “Really?”

Grace finally took the opportunity to examine him. “I thought there was a chance you wouldn’t show up at all. I thought it was very unlikely, but still possible.” Noticing Harry’s posture, Grace nodded for him to take his usual seat. “Relax, Harry, I’m not bothered by you being seven minutes late. Don’t make a habit of it, or that will change, but I understand why you might have been… worried. Especially considering I don’t imagine you had a lot of leeway growing up.” Surprised, Harry stepped forward and took his customary seat across from Grace, who spoke again a moment later.

“I did want to talk to you about last night, though.”

Harry tensed, wondering which part of the train wreck she wished to discuss first. The part where he had been semi-implicated as a possible criminal. The part where he had essentially thrown Malfoy on top of her. Or the fact that seconds after the latter event, he had decimated the aforementioned prat in the process. Or, even, that said prat was still currently recovering from broken ribs, a damaged knee, and a compromised Adam’s apple.

“Which part of it?” 

“More than one. First of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate not being used as a pawn in second-year drama. I know exactly why you did it, but there were other ways you could have provoked him.”

“I needed a way to get it done then.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Why the hurry, exactly? You have classes with him. You sleep in a room with him. I know you wanted to provoke him so you didn’t appear as the aggressor, but I could easily list off ways you could have successfully done that.”

“Because if it wasn’t done right then and there, I was going to curse him into oblivion in the dorm. That would have started a magical brawl, I imagine. And I doubt I would have looked like anything but the attacker if I did it that way.”

Grace frowned. “Why is it that you were so upset with him that you couldn’t wait? That seems… very shortsighted of you.”

Harry felt annoyance pulse against his psyche but shoved it ruthlessly aside. To Grace, it probably did seem that way. She wasn’t the one who had gone through everything with Malfoy over the past year. She hadn’t been the one who had put up with his antics for too long. The one who fired warning shots after warning shots before finally, they’d had enough. 

“That’s… a complicated question. I’d given him chances, trust me. I let him off easy. I let him off not so easy and warned him. He didn’t get the hint. I was done with it; I had to end it.” It was nothing against Grace, but after having this conversation that morning with Daphne and having been mentally and emotionally fatigued by it the first time, Harry had no desire to repeat it once more unless the Head Girl truly pressed the issue.

For the time being, it didn’t appear as though Grace intended to push him on his motives for attacking Malfoy in the manner he had. “I’ll take your word for it, but my point still stands. If you can kindly keep me out of lower year drama, it would be appreciated.”

“Noted, if it means anything to you, I wasn’t really targeting you. I just saw the chance to make him look like an idiot. Any of you would have done.”

Grace’s lips twitched. “Then maybe we’ll say keep my friends out of lower year drama.” Harry nodded. “Well, this does change things a bit. How much have you looked into the subskills of level two? Particularly, the ones that involve suppressing and controlling your emotions?”

Harry’s brows knit together. “I’ve read up on them a bit, but not very much. I haven’t put much time into them so far.”

“Make it a priority,” Grace instructed. “It will come a bit slowly right now, but you should have it down quickly enough. All the magical talent in the world isn’t going to help you if you can’t control your mind and your emotions.”

“It also helps with spell casting, right? Supplementary Occlumency, I think it’s called.”

“Correct, and speaking of Occlumency, we should really get started.” 

Again, Harry felt butterflies rise in his stomach. Tonight, they would be starting a new phase, of sorts. By now, Harry could reliably banish the weak probes Grace sent his way. He still had trouble detecting her more subtle intrusions, but when she attacked with blunt probes that were easy to detect and equally unchallenging to defend against, he could force her from his mind. Tonight, she would be increasing the strength of the connections she formed. The reason this left Harry worried was that now, there was a very real possibility that she was going to see his actual memories.

Their agreement was sound. She would quickly withdraw from the memories that loomed to the surface. Naturally, she had to linger for a time to allow Harry to defend himself. Once it became apparent he would be incapable of forcing her from his mind, she had agreed to withdraw. Along with, of course, a promise not to tell anybody what she had seen. 

To his dismay, Harry found the new, more effective probes far more difficult to deal with. By the time they had been at it for thirty minutes, he still had yet to successfully force her from his thoughts even once. As she raised her wand again, he could not help but feel helpless against the spell. 

That was when the lesson went downhill.

As Grace had explained it, the mind was a complex web of thoughts, emotions and memories. An infinite number of strands were constantly branching off in every direction, but the ones which were currently being used by the thinker were the ones that would present themselves for the attacking Legilimens.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had conjured up rather deep thoughts seconds before the spell had been cast.

Naturally, Grace swiftly latched onto that feeling of helplessness and before Harry could even think to clear his mind, the last memory associated with the emotion arose. That, on this occasion, was being immobilized and dragged from the common room by Calypso. The memory flashed past his eyes so fast that Harry barely had time to register it. All of the memories had done that, actually. It seemed to Harry as if they were all on fast-forward. The maximum setting, even. 

Yet somehow, this one seemed to flash by even faster. The only thing he could think was how he had felt during that memory. He knew that his focus should have been on clearing his mind, but he quickly found himself distracted by the oppressive, claustrophobic feeling brought on by those emotions and their significance in regards to his past.

Just like that, the memories spiraled.

Before Harry knew it, he was eight, and a large, purple hand was clasped tightly around the back of his neck. He was forcefully shoved into a small, familiar boot cupboard. The door slammed and locked, and Harry was left alone with the spiders. Next thing he knew, Petunia was screeching at him. Screeching about his freakish nature causing problems. Heavy footsteps sounded a moment later and suddenly, Vernon walked into the room, purple-faced, livid and wielding a belt.

“NO!” Harry shouted before the scene could play out any further and before a shocked and off-put Grace could withdraw or Harry could advertently defend himself, the young Slytherin could practically feel a sensation of rushing forward as, for a fraction of a second, he was not himself, but somebody else. Instead of standing in the familiar sitting room on Privet Drive, he stood in an equally familiar room in Weitts Manor, with Charlotte and Adriana gathered near him.

Before he could see any more, the physical world snapped back into focus with jarring speed and Harry staggered back, disoriented by the confusing rush of images. 

Despite his confusion, Harry knew what he had seen.

More importantly, he knew what Grace had seen.

She called after him, obviously realizing the mistake she had inadvertently made by being too taken aback by the images to pull from his mind earlier.

Her calls never reached him.

Before the Head Girl could do so much as move, Harry had spun on his heel and promptly stormed from the classroom, slamming the door loudly as he made his exit, trying valiantly to keep his surge of emotions under control.

He needed to be alone right now.

The problem was, most of his friends would know where they could find him.

There was only one secure place.

Primarily because Grace, if nothing else, shouldn’t be able to enter due to her lack of knowledge. And his friends would not dare to enter while they could be seen. 

Fortunately for Harry, he alone had a way to move undetected.

_**About ten minutes later, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

One of these days, Harry was going to have to learn how to make himself invisible. As in, for more than a held breath at once. It had been a close call. While impossible to spot, courtesy of the enchanted ring gifted to him by Voldemort the year previous, Harry had slipped into the common room, swiftly removed his bag from the dorms, and made his way into the Speaker’s Den. By the time he had entered the hidden quarters, he was gasping for breath. If nothing else, he was going to have fantastic breath control by the time he one day learned how to vanish from sight without the aid of the ring.

He’d never looked into doing that, but he suspected it would not be happening anytime soon. It just seemed like the sort of magic that would be very complex and difficult to learn. As flashy and practical as that magic doubtlessly was, Harry had more pressing matters, at the moment. These were the matters he needed assistance with.

As he opened the black journal in which he often wrote to Emily Riddle, he realized exactly how much he had come to rely on her as of late for assistance. It wasn’t a bad thing, per se. The questions he was asking were complex and, most of the time, not things he would have been able to answer on his own with the current resources at his disposal. It was certainly something to note, though he wasn’t about to go and spill sensitive information to her. He wouldn’t be writing about the Chamber of Secrets, for instance.

But for this problem, he could think of nobody better equipped to answer his plea. 

_Emily,  
I know we talked about subskills awhile back, but something’s come up. I really need to learn how to control and suppress my emotions. Like… as soon as humanly possible. Can you help me with that, specifically? Is there any way to speed up the process of learning that specific subskill?_

Harry wondered if Emily could sense the urgency with which he wrote. The swiftness of her reply, perhaps the fastest he could remember, nearly took him aback.

_There are conventional exercises to learn that subskill. Unfortunately, there isn’t a shortcut to doing it. Not unless you were to have something like an eidetic memory._

Despite his rather morbid mood, Harry actually could have laughed. For once, it seemed that the gods of irony had decided to smile down upon him. Perhaps they realized that last night, they had gone a touch overboard with their scorn.

_Well… I don’t really know how to prove this to you, but I actually do have a near eidetic memory._

A pause, and then…

_How very interesting. That will certainly help the process, yes. In that case, I suppose we can begin an explanation. But first, why exactly is it this has suddenly become such a high priority for you?_

Harry actually sighed; he was really getting sick of everything circling back to the Malfoy incident. 

_I sort of snapped last night, you could say. I’ve… been going back and forth with a kid in my year pretty much since we started Hogwarts last September. And when I say go back and forth, I don’t mean playground insults. We’ve both tried to get the other expelled. I’ve cost his family money and hurt their image, and he’s tried to ruin one of my friends’ lives. Let’s just say last night, things sort of boiled over. I goaded him into attacking me in the common room and then basically obliterated him in front of the whole house. Currently, he is still in the Hospital Wing._

_I went a bit too far, but that isn’t really the problem._

_The problem is that if somebody hadn’t stopped me, I’m not sure what I would have done to him. I was so lost that I barely even realized what was happening. And that wasn’t the first time something similar has happened, either. Just the worst case of it._

_That’s actually one of the reasons I started looking into Occlumency._

That and paranoia, but Harry didn’t share that part with his pen pal. 

_Hmm… that certainly seems like an adequate justification. I hope the incident hasn’t caused you too much trouble._

_Now, for the process of controlling and suppressing emotions. It is a multi-step process. You will first have to learn to understand your emotions. The process is somewhat similar to the one you went through last year to enable the ability to detect irregularities in your mind. The meditative stage of said process, that is. Through this process, you will understand each emotion. You will learn to sense and easily identify every one of them as fast or faster than you currently do irregularities. And you will be able to identify them with perfect clarity and precision._

_The reason an eidetic memory helps with this process is that, in order to suppress emotions, you must first learn to manipulate them. You will start with simple things like anger and happiness. As you progress, you will begin working with more complex things. Eventually, you will be able to manipulate the thought patterns of your brain, not just the emotions they trigger, but that is still quite some time in the future._

_For now, I need you to think of memories for each major emotion. We will begin with happiness, jealousy and frustration. When you have a memory for each, I want you to play that memory in your mind several times. The reason your exceptional memory will expedite the process is that most people have a difficult time remembering exactly how they felt in those moments._

_This is what you will need to do for step one. When that is done, we can begin to work on the actual manipulating of emotions, and then on to suppressing them. With some luck, this won’t take terribly long. Not nearly as long as Active Occlumency, at least._

That actually sounded far more simple than Harry had been expecting.

_Are all subskills this easy to learn?_

He felt as if he could see Emily Riddle rolling her eyes, even though he had no idea what she looked like.

_Not even remotely. This is by far the most basic, even though suppressing emotions is more complex. Come stage three of Occlumency, you will learn the true complexities of some of these subskills. Fortunately, that usually means they are grander and will have more of an impact when used._

Harry shrugged. _It was worth a shot._

When Emily’s response came, his lips actually twitched.

_How adorably naive of you, Harry._

_**November 2, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:36 AM** _

Harry was a bit later than usual entering the Great Hall for breakfast that next morning. He had stayed up rather late the previous night in the Speaker’s Den. For most of it, he had gone over theory with Emily and practiced some of the exercises she had provided. To his pleasant surprise, none of them were overly difficult. Perhaps this process really would be far shorter than that arduous undertaking that was Active Occlumency. For the rest of the time, he had read some more about Ancient Runes, finally entering a stage where they would soon be practical for him, and written to Emily about smaller, more mundane things that did not pertain to magic.

They had done this a couple of times, lately. Nothing too personal was revealed. Just little tidbits here and there. 

As a result of his late-night, and considerable paranoia on his part that Grace may well have been waiting outside of the Den to ascertain how to enter, that was where Harry had slept that night. In the small but comfortable bedroom. If he wasn’t so worried about the Den being discovered by other students, he thought that he would likely make a habit of it. As much as he liked Blaise, it was nice not having to share a room with anybody. Both for comfort sake and to ease his sense of paranoia, which was growing stronger by the day. The entire debacle two nights earlier had only served to validate the sense. Which, in turn, only made the instincts it spurred on more pronounced.

It was for this reason that Harry was fashionably late to breakfast the Monday after Samhain. Perhaps the inevitable reaction to his arrival was also a subconscious part of it. The Hogwarts rumour mill had been churning for the past thirty-six or so hours. At the centre of it, for once, was not the Boy-Who-Lived. In his place, his Slytherin brother was being metaphorically slaughtered for his perceived part in the petrification of Mrs. Norris.

And the worst part was, Harry could hardly blame them. If he would have walked in on a similar scene, he likely would have made assumptions, too.

Unless the person was a Slytherin.

Harry refused to believe any Slytherin would be stupid enough to linger in a corridor after committing an act like that. Perhaps Draco Malfoy would be the exception. Or maybe Crabbe, or Goyle. Harry had no idea how those two lumps had gotten into the supposed house of cunning in the first place. If the ancient Hogwarts Sorting Hat had ever made a mistake, it was one of, if not both of those two.

He approached the Slytherin table with more caution than he usually displayed. He was well aware of the fact that he was going to get a verbal dressing down from Daphne, at least, who would have wondered where he had gone. That was if Blaise had told her that he hadn’t returned to the dorms. As Harry took his seat and earned nothing more than a raised eyebrow from his closest female friend, he immediately realized that Blaise had kept his secret. 

Conspiratorially, Harry shot a brief, subtle smile towards Blaise, who nodded his head minutely in return.

“Practicing, I’m assuming?” Daphne asked. Harry was just going to have to assume that Blaise had gone with the story that Harry had been gone when he had awoken. Which actually did happen on most days, so it was a rather believable cover story.

“Technically, I was studying.” It was a partial lie, one referencing his work on Occlumency and Runes from the previous night. “I didn’t cast any magic, but I guess you’re close enough.”

“Do you ever stop studying and practicing?” Tracey looked exasperated.

Harry shrugged. “I enjoy magic. It doesn’t feel like work for me.” That and he was steadfastly set on his goals. If his hellacious treatment at the hands of the Dursleys had taught him anything, it was how to attack a mission with singular, unbreakable focus.

“If you say so,” Tracey said, looking as if she could not, for the life of her, understand her friend’s philosophy on the matter.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the paper?” Daphne asked, sounding rather cautious.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Seeing as I’ve been in the dungeons all morning, no, I haven’t. I’m taking it something in there is interesting?”

Cautiously, Daphne slid her own copy over towards Harry, who looked at the front page. Then, he blinked, his eyes unbelieving at the blaring, boldly lettered title.

_****_ ****

**_Mystery Man, or Mishandled Evidence?  
A Criminal Is Walking the Halls of Hogwarts!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

If this rather eye-catching title wasn’t enough, the picture which dominated the front page certainly was. It was Harry at Charlus’s birthday gala. In the picture, he was shaking hands with his father in greeting. His smile was wide and charming, but Harry alone knew it to be equal parts fake and artificial. With clinical precision, Harry began to read the article.

_It appears as though terrifying events have taken place this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. According to multiple inside sources, the night of Samhain was not such a wonderful occasion._

_After the traditional feast held each year at Hogwarts, much of the student body stumbled into a second-floor corridor to find a most horrific scene awaiting them. The Caretaker’s cat was found, completely still and lifeless, hanging from a torch bracket. Written on the wall was an ominous message from a supposed heir of Salazar Slytherin, warning those of less than noble blood._

_Currently, no culprit has been caught, but that is not to say there is not at least one primary suspect._

_When students poured onto the scene that night, they found that Harry Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, was being held at wand point by his younger twin, Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and two of the latter’s closest friends. According to the same earlier sources, Charlus and co. seemed to indicate that they had heard a commotion and rushed to the scene, only to find Harry Potter supposedly studying his handiwork._

_This is not the first time the Potter Heir has found himself in drama whilst at Hogwarts. In just his first year, Heir Potter was caught up in a scandal that saw the heirs of several Ancient and Most Noble Houses charged with levelling false accusations. All of whom pleaded guilty this past July._

_Is it perhaps possible that Harry Potter was not quite as innocent as we all might have thought? Certainly, two bouts of major drama, both of which about cases that fall under the criminal variety by the age of 12 are troubling. Either Harry Potter has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and this is all one, massive coincidence, or perhaps the black sheep of the Potter family really may be going the path opposed to his brother and father._

Harry slid the newspaper pensively back towards Daphne with a thoughtful expression on his face. “What is it?” Blaise asked with a mix of caution and confusion. 

“I’m not sure, it just seems a bit off to me. She spent the end of last school year and most of the summer slandering Malfoy and the others. Now, she’s done a complete one-eighty. Maybe it’s just good for gossip, but it seems a bit odd. Especially since that last paragraph even hinted that she might have been wrong about last year. I know nothing about journalism, but admitting you were wrong about anything seems like a terrible PR move.”

“For real journalists, it would actually help to keep their credibility,” Daphne explained. “It’s not Skeeter’s style though, I’ll give you that. She finds that line in the sand and runs straight through it. For her to walk back the other way is a bit strange.”

It was certainly curious, but Harry didn’t see it as detrimental, per se. it was one bit of gossip about a twelve-year-old. How it had made the front page was positively beyond him. If more articles like this one came, then problems might arise. For now, there was little he could do but hope this supposed Heir of Slytherin was caught.

Judging by the past idiocy of the Hogwarts staff, there was a part of Harry that was distinctly unsure how likely that event was to come to fruition.

_**November 4, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:49 AM** _

That Wednesday morning had been the first time Harry had been near Draco Malfoy since their one-sided duel the night of Samhain. Incidentally, it had also probably been the quietest Harry had ever seen the blond be for an extended time period. During the practice, he did not so much as meet Harry’s eyes. Nor, even, did he boast about the top-of-the-line brooms his father had purchased for the team. The hilarity in all of this, for Harry, was that it was perhaps the team’s best practice all year thus far. In his opinion, this was the world trying to send Draco a message.

Things tend to go better for you when you’re not being a complete and utter git.

The practice had gone so well that Bletchley, who was nothing short of a strict task-master at the best of times, decided to call it off a bit early. This meant that the team actually made it to breakfast before the start of the first period. Granted, they made it with less than fifteen minutes to spare. Normally, they had to rush straight from the pitch to their first period classes. Oftentimes, one or more members wound up being late. Snape had fortunately written all of them notes to excuse their lateness on account of their early morning practice.

Because of this fact, Harry’s friends were pleasantly surprised when he dropped into the only available seat left at the table, the one beside Charlotte and across from Pansy. 

“You have a letter,” Charlotte informed him at once, grabbing a hold of her handbag and withdrawing a slip of parchment from within. “I haven’t read it, but I know what it’s about already. They all watched me take it.” The thing left unsaid here was that the latter fact validated her claim of not going through his mail. 

Harry took the letter from her and opened it neatly, recognizing the cryptic crest of the Weitts family. One comprised of a river, a bridge, a tree, and a motto written in some dead language that Harry had once already failed to translate. There was another crest, as well. This one, Harry recognized from his copy of Nature’s Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy. 

It was the crest of the Greengrass family.

_Heir Potter,  
We understand that along with many of the heirs invited to the gathering, you were unable to attend our annual Samhain gala on account of the events that took place that night at Hogwarts castle. Though the gala went on, we do plan on remedying this inconvenience._

_On behalf of House Weitts, we would like to formally apologize for the inconvenience, even though we are of course aware of the fact that we could have done nothing to prevent it._

_After discussions with our close allies, we have decided to co-host a gala on the 31st of December that will be held at Greengrass Manor. So, on behalf of Lord Greengrass and the rest of his family, as well as House Weitts, we would like to formally invite you to yet another gala put on by our family._

_Please return this owl with your answer no later than December 1st._

_We hope to see you on the eve of the new year.  
Regards,  
Sigmund Weitts  
Regent of House Weitts_

There was a part of Harry that simply wanted to ask Charlotte whether or not she could just respond on his behalf. Of course, that would not be proper, formal etiquette. If Daphne was being honest about her mother and her knack for enforcing the policies of high society, Harry didn’t think responding in such a manner would be appropriate.

As such, he spent the remainder of his breakfast penning his reply letter. He spent so long, in fact, that the first years, who had a lengthy walk before them, had already left by the time he’d finished what he considered to be a passable reply.

Charlotte, Ginny and Laine were near the marble staircase when they heard the shout from behind them. Fearing that they would be ambushed once more, Ginny quickly went for her wand. Charlotte, on the other hand, knew better. No self-respecting Slytherin would scream bloody murder at their would-be victims seconds before an ambush. In the week leading up to a heated Quidditch match, especially with the tension in the school that hung heavily in the air after the incident on Samhain night, she supposed they may be about to get attacked by a Gryffindor, though she didn’t think they would be foolish enough to do it in such a packed corridor.

It turned out that she was half-right.

It was indeed a pair of Gryffindors that marched up to the group of them. One was Ron Weasley and the other was Charlus Potter. The latter looked slightly unsure why he was there in the first place, and the former looked as if enough steam was billowing out of his ears to power the Hogwarts Express.

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Ginny?!” the youngest Weasley son swore loudly. Charlotte expected, at least in part, for Ginny to shrink back. To her surprise and mild delight, she was proven wrong. Perhaps she was more comfortable with confrontations that involved her brothers. After being locked up in a tight, confined space with a large number of them for eleven years, Charlotte would hardly blame Ginny if that was the case.

At the moment, she was simply content to watch the younger Weasley’s fire. That was not to say her hand did not rest carefully close to her wand. She was ready to jump in on the behalf of her most unlikely friend at any moment when the situation seemed to call for it.

Ginny was not yet flushing quite as red as her older brother, but it looked as though she may well get there in time.

“What am I doing, Ronald? What the hell are you doing? Harassing your little sister in the hallway again? Are you going to punch me this time?”

“I’m trying to help you! What are you doing sitting with Slytherin Potter? He’s the Heir, Ginny!” Charlotte very badly wanted to interject, but she managed to hold her tongue.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron-“

“Ridiculous? We saw him, Ginny! We walked in on the tosser! He was standing there, looking at his handiwork.”

“That is the single dumbest thing I’ve heard all day,” Charlotte snapped, no longer able to contain the rebuke. “If Harry is the Heir of Slytherin, then that makes the golden boy here his descendant as well.” Charlotte turned to Charlus, who looked very uncomfortable. “What do you think, Potter? Is talking to snakes a favourite pastime of yours?”

“Don’t listen to her, Ginny! Don’t listen to any of them, especially not Slytherin Potter. Even his own brother knows he’s going dark.”

“And you think just because I’m in Slytherin that I’m going to become some sort of dark lady?”

“That’s what I’m trying to stop!”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m done with you, Ron. Get out of the way.” When Ron refused to budge, Ginny tried to push past him. The much taller, much larger boy stopped her easily, taking a firm grip on her arm and cornering her against the wall, forcefully ensuring she didn’t get away. Before he could do anything further, a ringing sound like a clap swept through the corridor. When those in the vicinity looked around, their attention drawn by the sudden sound, they saw Ron Weasley staggering back, a hand to his cheek as Charlotte Weitts pulled back her own hand.

To call it a slap would be doing it an injustice. Every bit of disdain the youngest member of House Weitts had for Ronald Weasley was put into that one motion, and the impact was such that Ron almost stumbled. In the moments following the resounding impact, Charlotte reflected, with some satisfaction, that she thought she might have actually hit Weasley harder than he had managed to hit Harry two months earlier.

Ron’s immediate response, once he seemed to have recovered enough to think, was to step menacingly towards Charlotte as if he were going to hit her back. Halfway forward, he seemed to realize exactly what he was doing, and he froze. 

That moment of indecision cost him dearly.

Charlotte didn’t even bother to draw her wand. She didn’t need it for this. If anything, it would only slow the process. She took a powerful stride towards Weasley. It looked as if she would step right into him. But at the last, possible second, she brought her knee up, hard, driving it with forceful precision into Ronald Weasley’s nether regions.

There was an astonishingly brief moment in time when Ron Weasley’s eyes seemed to roll back in his head as his jaw fell open. A strangled groan of pain was all that escaped before he crumpled to the floor in a heap, quickly curling into the fetal position. For his part, Charlus had looked very much as if he would step forward to assist his friend a second earlier.

All of a sudden, he did not look so eager.

Charlotte bent low over the crumpled form of Ron Weasley, whispering low, menacing words to the wounded boy before moving on with her friends. “I’m done with you hurting my friends, Weasley. Next time, I’ll make it permanent.” 

Her parting message delivered, Charlotte straightened up once more, gesturing for an awestruck Ginny and an amused Laine to follow her towards their first-period class. It would be rather unfortunate if they didn’t leave before a teacher arrived on the scene. Luckily for them, as they departed, no teacher’s eyes followed them.

Instead, the pair of eyes that honed in on them were brown, and belonged to a set of boys who had been lurking in a hidden alcove, wearing Gryffindor robes.

_**November 6, 1992  
The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom  
2:29 PM** _

As the second year Gryffindor class began to pack their things away just before the bell was set to ring to signal the conclusion of their most recent lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart, the aforementioned professor’s voice clearly rang through the room.

“Mister Potter, I would appreciate it greatly if you were kind enough to stay behind.” Charlus exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione before shrugging. In the end, his friends decided to wait for him out in the hall, seeing as this was their last class of the week. Charlus, for his part, made his way rather warily in the direction of his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He had nothing inherently against Lockhart, aside from the awful detention he had been forced to endure at the man’s hand, but something about the way he stood so casually tipped Charlus off that something was certainly about to happen.

“You wanted to talk to me, sir?”

“I did,” Lockhart affirmed, discretely casting several more privacy charms on his already warded classroom door. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Samhain.”

Charlus’s posture stiffened. “What about it, sir?”

Lockhart frowned. “Maybe I should amend that statement. I wanted to indirectly talk to you about what happened on Samhain. What I actually want from you is some information that might help me catch whoever the hell is behind this.”

Charlus looked confused. “Why do you think I can give you helpful information, Professor?”

“Because what I need is information on the Potter family.” 

If Charlus could become tenser, he accomplished it. “Why do you need that, sir? That’s… not something people go around asking for.”

“I’m aware. I think you’ll also admit that usually, people don’t go around petrifying living things.” Grudgingly, Charlus had to admit that the man had a point. “But yes, I know it’s a personal question that I really have no right to ask. The problem, as I see it, is that there is only one real suspect at the moment.”

“You mean Harry, don’t you?”

Lockhart’s frown deepened. “I know it might be hard for you to see, but your brother is the only option right now. I’m not saying that he did it. It’s way too early to tell for sure. But we have a lead. We need to look into it. That way, if it is him, we can stop this nonsense early and prevent it from going any further. The last thing we need is a student to get attacked; the cat was bad enough.” 

Lockhart fixed him with a rather intense stare. Idly, Charlus thought those deep blue eyes were odd to have fixed upon him in such a manner. He was used to seeing Lockhart pose and preen for the cameras. He was certainly not accustomed to the man peering at him so intently that he may well have been trying to read the Gryffindor youth’s inner thoughts. “Unless you think it’s impossible your brother is responsible.”

Charlus wanted so badly to believe that. There was nothing in the world he would have liked to believe more.

But he couldn’t.

It was all adding up. His brother’s sorting had been problematic if admittedly not detrimental. Then, there had been the incident in the catacombs. As logical as Dumbledore’s argument had been, a part of Charlus still whispered about the dangers of trusting his brother. Even if he had ignored that, there had been the incident at Flourish and Blotts. Harry had a well-articulated defence for that, but naturally, any true Slytherin would. 

This most recent offence was by far the most heinous. Being caught red-handed at the scene of the crime was something else altogether. 

His sense of suspicion was higher than ever in regards to his brother, and that fact made him irrationally furious.

“No, sir,” he eventually settled for, “I can’t tell you that.”

Lockhart nodded, seeming to be completely nonplussed by his answer. “Well then, to business. I’ve no idea if the ability has anything to do with the petrifications themselves, yet, but do you know what a Parselmouth is, Mister Potter?”

“A person who can speak to snakes. Voldemort was one.”

Lockhart nodded sagely, and Charlus could not help but notice that Lockhart didn’t even so much as bat an eye at the Dark Lady’s name. 

“She was, yes. One of the many reasons why witches and wizards far and wide refuse to speak her name, even to this day. She isn’t the first Parselmouth in Magical Britain though. The ability, at least in Britain, can be traced back to Slytherin himself. Assuming this attacker of ours isn’t bluffing, they’ll be a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. That means they’ll probably be able to speak to snakes because of their blood connection to Slytherin.” Lockhart’s gaze had turned intense once more. “Can you speak to snakes, Charlus? I need you to answer me one-hundred percent honestly. What you tell me will never leave this room, but it is vitally important in tracking down this Heir of Slytherin before things get out of hand.”

“No, sir,” He hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time trying. Snakes didn’t typically lurk around Potter Manor, for one thing. But the idiocy of it. The whole thing was obvious. 

He was a Potter. They had no blood connection to Slytherin.

Lockhart’s face was impassive. “And no known connection to Slytherin?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you do me a favour, Mister Potter? And promise me honestly to do it to the best of your abilities?”

“That… depends on what the favour is.”

“Alright then. I need you to look into your family history. Not just reading _Nature’s Nobility,_ but actually looking into it. Maybe get your dad to send you some books from your manor or vault talking about your ancestry.”

Charlus’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me?” 

Lockhart chose his next words very carefully. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s the fact that the Potter family is known for its secrecy. It has been for generations. All I’m saying is that if you, and more importantly, your brother somehow are connected to Slytherin, I don’t exactly think your family would advertise that information.” He fixed Charlus with a more easygoing expression. “Besides, chances are you have nothing to fear. Best case scenario, you’re right. Worst case scenario, we have our culprit.” He gave a deep, belly laugh. “It’s a win-win situation, after all.”

_**That night, after dinner, in an abandoned classroom...** _

For all the things Charlus currently despised about his twin, one thing that he had to grudgingly envy was his smooth ability to talk his way out of situations. Charlus deeply wished he possessed that talent. It would have made slipping away from Ron and Hermione far easier.

To amend that statement, it would have made slipping away from Hermione far easier. 

Ron had actually been quite easy to shake off. He had been rather disheartened when Charlus showed no interest in a game of chess, but otherwise, he put up little fuss. Hermione, on the other hand, was far more inquisitive. His default excuse had been schoolwork. The problem with that was Hermione, in typical fashion, was off to the library, and she persistently insisted that Charlus accompany her. Charlus had been forced to say it was their Defence paper. It was the only subject he was actually better in than her, so he had, with some difficulty, managed to convince her he did not need written material.

In the end, he had indeed managed to slip off back to the abandoned classroom he had frequented ever since getting the letter that first morning back at Hogwarts, even though he’d been unable to read it until that night.

_**The Past  
September 2, 1992  
The Gryffindor Dorms  
10:23 PM** _

Charlus’s first day back at Hogwarts had been surprisingly taxing. He had performed well in his classes, which, after spending more time than ever before studying over the summer, he was grateful for. Being back in the perpetually turbulent atmosphere at Hogwarts was taxing nonetheless. It was nonstop, ever-present motion. So much so, even, that until now, Charlus had not been able to open the letter he had received at breakfast. Then, he had taken little more than a glimpse of how discrete the envelope was. Finally, hours later, protected in the privacy of his bed, Charlus finally opened the letter.

_Potter,  
I may be unable to continue your in-person education whilst you reside in the castle, but I still plan on ensuring your progression from afar. _

_You will continue to work on the stances, forms and spells we have worked on while you are at that school. Every month, I will send you four new spells. If maths is not your area of expertise, that means I expect you to master one spell a week._

_Remember, magic is about intent. If you still lack the necessary intent, continue to force the spell with raw, powerful emotions. Conjure them up with images if you need them. The important thing is that these spells and the mindset you require to cast them become second nature to you._

_Best of luck at school.  
Sincerely,  
Mr. Bellona_

_**Back in the present…** _

Charlus actually had kept up sternly on his regiment. He had made excellent progress, even. He did often feel rather angry after practices. Morbidly so, even. Why this was, he wasn’t sure. It certainly was not his performance. He had decided long ago to push it to the side. All that mattered was improving so that in the future, he wouldn’t need to rely on others to solve his problems.

Unfortunately, he had run into a roadblock as of late.

When Dumbledore had convinced him to forgive his brother, the image he used to spark anger inside of him was suddenly less effective. It was still usable, but barely. It took a much larger effort to spark the raw emotion needed, but he could still do it. After the twins had pranked Harry and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, conjuring up the anger had been nearly impossible. And after he had properly reconciled with Harry, it became completely implausible.

But now, as he squared up to a target that Mr. Bellona had discretely sent him one night via several owls, Charlus thought that once more, he might have the ability to cast using his original image. He felt as if a dragon was roaring contentedly inside his chest as if at long last, it had been freed once more. He felt as if a restrictive dam had been broken and finally, the bottled-up emotions inside of him could flow freely once more.

“Lacero!”

With a vicious slash, Charlus cleaved the dummy’s arm straight off with enough force to send it spinning through the air.

Yes, it was definitely safe to say that once more, less than twenty-four hours before he was supposed to suit up against him on the pitch, the thought of his twin brother gave Charlus enough of a motivation to cast the more questionable curses that Mr. Bellona had armed him with over the months.

_**Meanwhile, in the hidden passage under the marble staircase…** _

When Ginny, who had dinner early and was consequently alone, heard the exclamation as she made to walk up the marble staircase, she very nearly set a new world record for the high jump. At least, that was what it had felt like at the time. Then, with a fair bit of surprise, Ginny saw two familiar faces awaiting her. 

“Fred, George?”

“Yeah, yeah, those are our names. Don’t wear them out.”

“While you’re at it,” the other one chimed in, “get in here, will you?” Then, Ginny realized that they appeared to be standing in a passage leading under the stairs, holding a very subtly placed door open. 

Slightly apprehensive but willing nonetheless, Ginny stepped swiftly forward, vanishing with the twins into the secret passageway as they closed the door behind them. Before Ginny could speak, both of the twins removed their wands with gusto, taking it in turns to hurl privacy spells at the door they’d just closed. When the two of them were sufficiently satisfied with their privacy measures, they turned to Ginny.

“Come to talk, have you?” She wondered if this would have been her reaction to this situation a few months ago. She didn’t think so. Ron had been right about Slytherin changing her, just not in the way he had meant. Already, she felt more confident. Part of that, she knew, was because of the people who she spent time with. But part of it was having to learn and adapt to the complexities of the house itself. Ginny knew that still, she was very far from completely adapted. Despite that, she had already come a long way. In her opinion, if all of that had been achievable, then the sky was the limit for what she could do.

Just surviving had been a confidence boost in and of itself.

Perhaps it was showing, for both of the twins suddenly looked intensely unsettled. “We’ve really bottled this one, haven’t we?” 

“If by ‘bottled this one’ you mean avoided me like the grim for the past two months, then yeah, you two have really bottled it.”

The twins exchanged looks. “Are you willing to hear us out?” George asked, his voice an odd mix between hopefulness and dread. After a brief moment of contemplation, Ginny nodded, prompting the twins to exchange looks before George took the lead.

“Look, Ginny, I don’t really know how to say this.” 

“I do,” Fred interjected. “We’re idiots. Complete and utter idiots.” He winced. “Gits too, while we’re on the topic.”

“We’ll go with idiots for now,” George decided. “It works better for this whole explaining thing. Well, here goes nothing. We didn’t think there was a ruddy chance in hell you’d be sorted into Slytherin. The thought never even crossed our minds. When it happened, we were flummoxed. Had no idea how to take it, either of us. The only experience we have with snakes is on the Quidditch pitch. Obviously, the lot of them are wankers there.”

“Complete tossers,” Fred agreed. “At first, that’s where our heads went. We weren’t sure whether to yell at you, prank you back into reality, or offer help defending you from the gits in your house.” Ginny wasn’t sure if she should have been touched or offended by that. Nonetheless, she still stood quietly, allowing the twins to finish their seemingly somewhat prepared monologue.

“Then, we realized that everyone in the house probably isn’t Flint and the other wankers we’ve played against. We realized that just because you were in Slytherin didn’t mean you were a git or anything.”

Ginny sniffed, trying very hard to conceal what she was actually feeling. “How brilliant of you.”

The twins exchanged another nervous glance before Fred picked up the tale. “Right, well, anyway, we figured that out, but it didn’t really help us. We’re… not good at the whole emotions thing. We never really have been. We’re good at making people laugh and we’re pretty decent at magic. We like to think of ourselves as clever little devils as well, but that’s another topic altogether.” In spite of herself, Ginny’s lips twitched, which seemed to spur the twins on.

“Because of us being useless at emotions, we had no clue how to approach you. Thing is, we didn’t want to make the whole thing worse. Usually, our answer would be to do something funny. Make a joke out of it, you know. Problem is, how the hell do you make a joke out of something like this?”

“You don’t,” Ginny supplied neutrally and both of the twins nodded in agreement.

“So,” Fred picked up, “in our infinite wisdom and pratiness, we decided to ignore the situation. If you came to us, we couldn’t botch it that bad, could we?” He shook his head. “What we forgot is that you took after Mum and honestly, us. Stubborn thing, you are. By the time we’d realized you weren’t gonna come to us, we thought it was too late.”

“And then Halloween happened,” George supplied. “And… other stuff. We realized how bad the divide was between you lot and the rest of the school. It made us realize that by ignoring you, we were being even bigger prats than we would have been had we come to you and royally screwed things up. At least then, we would have made an effort.”

“What my dashing, but slightly less dashing than me, brother is trying to say is that we’re really sorry, Ginny. The three of us have always been closest, even with the age difference. At least after Charlie moved out, anyway. If anyone should’ve been looking out for you, it was us.”

“I thought that too, you know,” Ginny said quietly. “I thought for sure that the two of you would be the first ones to talk to me.” She snorted. “I definitely didn’t expect Percy to be the first, at least. And you know what? He was right. He gave me his thoughts on everything at the beginning of the year and he nailed it. He said you two were prats and idiots, but not outright gits. You just had no idea what to do.”

“Well, we’ve definitely acted like gits, but he nailed the parts about being idiotic, clueless prats.”

“That’s us in a nutshell,” George agreed. “Funny, idiotic, clueless prats, but idiotic, clueless prats nonetheless.”

Ginny could not help but smile despite everything that had happened. Their silence had been the most painful thing for her. Even worse than Ron’s outright scorn. Even with the age difference, they’d been close. Not exceptionally so, but the two of them were certainly the most similar to Ginny in the house. She had always gotten on with them better than anybody else. 

“So,” George asked tentatively, “You being a snake and all now, how much is it gonna take for you to forgive us two idiotic, clueless prats?”

“Us funny, idiotic, clueless prats.” Fred amended.

Ginny smiled. “An apology and a hug will do. I missed you two!” After a brief moment of shocked incredulity, the two twins smiled warmly, genuinely smiled and converged on their little sister. It was a rather touching moment as all present members of the Weasley family exalted in their reunion.

__**November 7, 1992**  
The Quidditch Pitch  
9:30 AM 

The morning of his first-ever Hogwarts Quidditch match, Harry was presented with yet another form of motivation to learn how to control and, in this instance, suppress emotions.

He was nervous — more nervous than he had ever been in his life.

It had taken quite some time for him to even rise from the bed that morning. He was an ambitious and competitive person. He knew that the entire school expected Charlus to beat him to the snitch. In the grand scheme of things, it was his brother who had everything to lose and nothing to gain. Yet, he could barely stomach the thought of losing to his twin. Least of all after the events of the past week. He was furious with Charlus and his friends already. If he had to look his brother in the eye after the events of Samhain, plus a crushing defeat in Quidditch, Harry was unsure if he could ever live it down.

At breakfast, he had valiantly tried to eat nothing at all. He thought whatever he put down was certain to come back up anyway. Harry sat very near the centre of the table with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. None of them had much success in convincing him to eat. It had been Grace, sitting nearby them in the dead centre seat at the table, who placed a small plate of food in front of him. The two of them had shared a very brief staring match before finally, forcefully, Harry managed to get down the minimal amount of food. 

And then, before he knew it, he was sitting in his cubicle within the Slytherin changing room. He was already fully kitted in his team uniform and his Nimbus 2001 rested on his lap, holding itself perfectly balanced as it seemed to defy gravity. Harry had often heard the expression that one got butterflies in their stomach. The truth of the matter was that it wasn’t an intense enough idiom. Perhaps a more apt phrase would be that a live gryphon was trapped within the depths of his chest and stomach. The gryphon, in its bid for freedom, was forcefully trying to tear through the wall of flesh and muscle that kept it contained. It was admittedly more morbid, but it was also more accurate. 

The atmosphere before a major, high-pressure sporting event, was far more intense than that. Something as small and innocent as a butterfly could never convey the true weight of exactly what an athlete felt seconds before stepping up to perform.

Sooner than Harry would have liked, Bletchley was calling the team to congregate near the exit of the changing room. 

Their cue to take the pitch drew near. 

After a fairly rousing speech from their captain, the other six members of the team joined him in waiting at the exit as finally, the magically magnified voice of Lee Jordan echoed through the stadium, reaching their ears even from their place in waiting.

“Students, staff and honoured guests, welcome to the opening match of the 1992-1993 Hogwarts Quidditch season!” A roar of eager approval accompanied Lee’s grandiose introduction and he didn’t speak again until the crowd quieted. Having been friends with the Weasley Terrors for so long, it came as no surprise to Harry that Jordan had a flair for the dramatics. Whatever multitude of negative things he could say about the infamous twins, that was one attribute he grudgingly had to concede that they possessed in spades.

“This season opens in dramatic fashion, as the school’s biggest and most heated rivalry comes to head this morning, out on the pitch! It will be Gryffindor versus Slytherin!” Again, a roar of approval from the stands. “Now, allow me to introduce the Slytherin Quidditch team, who have won seven of the last eight Quidditch Cups here at Hogwarts despite a disappointing finish last season.” It sounded very much to Harry as though the first half of that statement was physically painful for Lee Jordan to speak aloud. He suspected that part, at least, had been scripted for him.

“Welcoming the Slytherins! First, their captain, wearing the jersey number one, it’s Keeper Miles Bletchley.” With one last, hard look to the rest of the team, Bletchley mounted his broom and rocketed out onto the pitch, flying straight out of the open mouth leading into the stadium.

Apparently, Jordan was not the only one with a flair for the dramatics.

“The Slytherin beaters, numbers two and three respectively, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick!” Both hulking boys followed in Bletchley’s footsteps and Harry’s heart rate quickened as he realized only one more position would be called before he made his first, public appearance within the ancient castle’s stadium. 

“Next up, the chasers! Numbers four, five and six in that order, Cassius Warrington, Draco Malfoy and Adrian Pucey!” The three chasers shot out onto the pitch next. Before leaving, Cassius, his face a stony visage of competitive concentration, gave Harry one last, encouraging thumbs up.

“And finally, making up one half of the most interesting duel Hogwarts will likely see this year, we have Slytherin’s new seeker! Number seven, Harry Potter!” 

Harry too mounted his broom, and as if watching it happen from a third-person perspective, Harry felt himself flying forwards and before he knew it, he was out in the frigid, November air, joining his team in a lap of the pitch at top speed. 

The noise from the stands was deafening already and the game had yet to even begin. As he’d suspected, Harry quickly ascertained that most of the school was vehemently routing against them. He suspected that the recent claims of an Heir of Slytherin being responsible for the mystery that currently wrapped the castle had not helped that matter. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who were usually neutral parties in the not-so-cold war that was eternally being fought by Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were very obviously in the lions’ corner this morning.

Harry took a fair bit of pride in the fact that, despite being outnumbered three to one, the green and silver-clad figures that dominated one-fourth of the stands were doing a remarkable job of having their voices heard. 

Just then, Harry’s eyes swept over the visitors’ section and he tensed. 

Hogwarts very often played host to guests for these sorts of matches. This morning, four figures, in particular, interested him greatly. 

The first two were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The couple’s eyes watched the entire Slytherin Quidditch team unwaveringly, though every few seconds, they flicked towards their own son. 

Speaking of fathers in the crowd, Harry swiftly noticed that James Potter was among those gathered. Pettigrew was present as well, standing beside James. Both of them were looking directly at Harry, and he had no idea how to feel about that. Before looking away, he did notice that Peter offered him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and even James was smiling with what seemed to be pride.

What an odd thought that was. For the father who had abandoned him to be proud. Such a shame that by this point, Harry had all but given up on any potential for a relationship between the two of them which was anything more than cordial and friendly. 

His attention was drawn back to Lee Jordan as he began to introduce the seven members of Gryffindor’s house team. Harry’s eyes were practically glued to Charlus as he hurtled out onto the pitch. As Harry noticed how his twin’s always messy hair became even worse in the wind, he suddenly realized for the first time that his own hair fell out of its perfect state whilst in the air.

He supposed you couldn’t have it all.

At long last, both teams had taken their place at centre field. As the captains shook hands, Bletchley looking like his hand was being crushed by the larger, more imposing form of sixth-year keeper Oliver Wood, Harry maintained hard eye contact with his brother. It had been Charlus who’d instigated the impromptu staring match. Before a winner could surface, the whistle blew. Despite both twins’ concentration seemingly being fixated on the other, both of them reacted instantaneously to Hooch’s whistle. In fact, they reacted at the exact same time, moving in perfect synchrony as they mounted their brooms and kicked off, hard. 

That was where the mirror effect had ended, for Harry’s broom took him much higher, much faster as the game began.

In the background, Jordan was commenting that Pucey had sped off and seized hold of the quaffle immediately. These were the types of advantages that the Slytherin’s top of the line racing brooms would grant them. Harry, on the other hand, was distracted immediately. When he reached his desired altitude, his first impulse was to turn and seek out the golden snitch. Instead of seeing the snitch, the first thing he saw was an angry, red bludger hurtling straight towards his face. 

With casual ease, Harry inverted in the air, allowing the ball to sail harmlessly through the space his head had occupied just seconds before. What did surprise him was that when he inverted back, the bludger had done a hard, one-hundred-eighty degree turn and was pelting back towards him once more. Annoyed, Harry dodged once more. Again, the bludger focused its attention back onto him. 

A frown etched itself onto the young Slytherin’s face. He would happily concede that he was not well-seasoned in Quidditch. Truly, he had an extremely limited amount of knowledge and experience at his disposal. Yet for all the hours he had spent practicing hard on the pitch with his teammates over the past two months, he didn’t remember a single instance of anything like this taking place. When taking into account his exceptional memory recall, that meant one thing.

There hadn’t been a single instance of this happening in the last two months.

If that wasn’t enough, Harry could vividly remember a passage from _Quidditch Through the Ages_ which spoke explicitly about bludgers. They were created to generally target any player on the pitch. They were certainly not designed to focus on one player exclusively. There had been instances in the past where teams had either directly tampered with bludgers to do just that, or paid off the officials to do it for them. The outcome was always that the responsible party was punished with a shocking degree of severity.

Yet here was the bludger, flying back towards Harry. In an effort to shake it, he dove straight down. As he did, he could hear the bludger coming up behind him. Derrick realized that it was hot on his tail and intercepted it with a well-placed strike with his bat. As it turned out, both he and Bole seemed to be freed up. Harry could hear Derrick curse as the bludger made another move towards Harry. 

“It’s been cursed,” Harry said as the beater intercepted it once more, sending it off course for a moment before it made another run. 

“Yeah,” Bole said as he took his turn to knock it away, “we’ve noticed. If you haven’t picked up on it already, you’re not the only unlucky bastard on the pitch.” The large boy gestured to a spot on the other side of the pitch. Charlus was also dodging furiously as the bludger made to decapitate him. The twins were converging on it with matching looks of astonishment on their seemingly identical faces.

“Right,” Derrick muttered, “So the beaters are gonna be useless this game. If the Terrors have half a brain between them, they’ll try and protect their seeker. They’ll still try and hit the bludgers at you, us and the chasers, but for the most part, they’ll be focused on protecting their Potter. If we do the same, it’ll just be up to you and him.”

“We’ll never win that way.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I won’t outfly him that way. I hate to admit it, but he has more experience and at least as much raw talent as I do. My best chance is to use the broom and trickery. If you two are crowding me, I can’t do either one of those.”

“Potter, it’ll fucking kill you.”

Harry scoffed. “So little faith.” They made to argue once more but before they could, Gryffindor called a timeout, which was rather ideal for Harry. Now, all he had to do was convince the beaters to let him be. It was dangerous for certain, but Harry was not losing to his twin. Especially not while riding a superior broom. He would never live it down.

“Somebody’s tampered with the bludger,” Bole told Bletchley immediately upon landing.

“Yeah, I can see that. Seeing as Gryffindor Potter has the same problem, I doubt much will come of us complaining about it.”

“What’s the score?” asked Derrick, having been so caught up in guarding Harry that he had been completely unable to keep track.

“We’re up by forty,” Bletchley answered. “Would be more, but we had a fumbled shot and Wood’s been brilliant.” Judging by the way Malfoy flushed, Harry knew exactly who had taken the aforementioned fumbled shot.

“Bletchley,” Harry cut in sharply, “tell these two to bugger off of me for a bit.”

The whole team looked startled. “Are you out of your mind?” Pucey asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s a bludger. I’m on the fastest broom that money can buy and if you lot are to be believed, I’m pretty decent at this whole flying thing. I’ll be fine.”

“Potter, that’s the single stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Pucey argued back. “You might be able to outfly the thing for a bit, but you’re human, it’s not. Eventually, you’ll make a mistake, and it won’t. When that happens, you’re fucked.”

“I’ll just get the snitch before that happens.”

“Bletchley, you can’t let him do this!”

“He can do it,” Cassius said quietly. “I don’t like it; not at all. I think it’s a terrible idea, but he can probably do it.” 

Harry felt a great surge of gratitude for his friend. It took a lot of stones to go against the popular opinion in a group anything like the one they currently stood in. But Cassius had stood firm. He made it obvious that sending one of his good friends off to fly against a rogue bludger was something he didn’t like, but he also expressed his seemingly sincere confidence in Harry.

Bletchley shrugged. “It might be a bad idea, but we can’t use reserves in-game. Only if Potter were to have pulled it before the game started. And whatever happens, I am not losing to Gryffindor.” He winced at how harsh that sounded. “No offence, Potter. It’s just that as captain, my job is to win Quidditch matches.” When Harry perked up, Bletchley froze him in place with a glare. “That also doesn’t mean I want to see my teammate get splattered. Be careful, Potter. stop you.” 

Harry nodded solemnly. He understood the risks just fine. 

When they took to the air once more, it was apparent that Charlus had suggested the same thing that Harry himself had. Both the Weasleys and the Slytherin beaters hung in the air, not entirely sure of what to do. In the end, they decided to focus on being opportunists. 

As Harry and Charlus dodged, weaved and corkscrewed to avoid the rogue bludgers, they all waited. Any time one of the seekers dodged a bludger that had enough momentum to allow it to travel well past them, one of the beaters would fly towards it. If the opposing chasers were close enough, they would hit the bludger towards them. If they were not particularly close, however, it would redirect itself before reaching them. On these occasions, whichever beater reached the bludger first, (almost always the Slytherins due to the drastic advantage of their brooms) they would hit it back towards the opposing seeker.

As for Harry and Charlus, the two of them had their focuses divided.

For Charlus, it was divided evenly across two streams of thought. The first one was not getting murdered by the vindictive bludger that seemed to be out for blood. The second was to frantically look around for any glint of gold.

His brother was a bit more complex, as the majority of his mind was dominated by several thoughts. The first, similarly to his brother, was staying alive. The second was to catch the snitch. The third was trying to come up with creative ways in which he could work the unique circumstances to his advantage. 

Experimentally, Harry shot towards Charlus, startling his twin. At the last second, he pulled up, leading the bludger on a collision course for Charlus’s face. His brother was more gifted than Malfoy though. With a tremendous, last-second evasion, Charlus let the bludgers both miss him, collide with one another, and spiral off course for about three seconds before pelting back towards their designated targets.

Before dodging once more, Charlus shot a particularly nasty glare towards Harry, who smirked back vindictively. He couldn’t outfly Charlus. That sheer brilliant move to evade two bludgers simultaneously had proven that to him. But he could certainly out-think him. He wasn’t deluded enough to think that if he began to weaponize his bludger against Charlus that his twin would not respond. He was, however, confident that if both boys started doing that, Harry would have a significant enough tactical advantage that he would be able to triumph.

Harry promptly dove towards Charlus, ready to instigate the most dangerous game of tag the crowd had ever seen. A part of him, the logical, cunning part, he suspected, was loudly screaming that this was a terrible idea. Indeed, he suspected many would call it a Gryffindor-esque strategy. But those people were narrow-minded. Those people forgot that there was more to being a Slytherin than cunning. Slytherin was also the house of the ambitious. Harry had no higher ambition in life, at the moment, than proving to the world he was greater than his twin. Proving to the world that James, Dumbledore and the rest of them had hatched their bets on the wrong brother.

That ambition gave Harry the courage to put his plan into motion.

As soon as he did so, the game descended into pure and utter chaos.

Charlus and Harry took turns having goes at one another. In turn, the bludgers were diverted onto the opposing seeker through last-second bails and quick, sharp turns. This entire time, Harry realized that if this kept up, he would never be catching the snitch in time. As he barrel-rolled to avoid both his brother and the bludger before turning in mid-air to shoot towards Charlus like a javelin, an idea formed in his mind. 

The idea had actually been spurred on a moment earlier when he had contrasted Gryffindor and Slytherin in his mind. The Gryffindor beaters were likely impulsive, to an extent. Not just because they were Gryffindors, Harry wasn’t that narrow-minded. But he knew a bit of them. If their brother Ronald was anything to go off of, and taking some of their hasty pranks into account, Harry thought it was a safe bet to assume that the pair of them were react first individuals. 

That could be taken advantage of. 

As Charlus chased him towards the stands, Harry signaled to his beaters. It was actually a signal the chasers usually gave to him, but he hoped they got the idea. Chasers, if struggling to contain the opposing line, would signal their seeker to run interference. Harry gestured for the beaters to do this, but he gestured towards the twins, not towards the chasers. His beaters looked perplexed for a moment, but after the signal Harry had given him during tryouts had worked so well, Bole was the first to react. Before the twins knew what was happening, they and the Slytherin beaters were also engaged in a rather deadly game of tag. They were shooting towards each other like overgrown bullets, leaving their attention successfully diverted from the battling seekers.

This was the good thing.

The bad thing was that Harry and Charlus, whilst being tailed by the rogue bludgers, were streaking straight towards the packed bleachers. 

Harry swerved hard, taking them on a slightly different course. This new course was far less dangerous for those in the bleachers. Unfortunately, it was far more dangerous for Harry and Charlus. This new path only presented the two seekers with one viable option. 

That was to fly under the bleachers. That, or fly straight into a stadium wall. 

Channeling whatever inner Gryffindor Harry may have possessed as part of his Potter lineage, he went for it, flying straight under the bleachers. Charlus cursed and followed. For the third or fourth time in the last six or so months, Harry had his perception changed on what the most dangerous thing he’d ever done in his life was.

Flying under bleachers, weaving tightly in and out of columns that he could barely see coming while avoiding the rogue bludger hot on his tail certainly took the cake. The worse part was, in spite of the advantage his superior broom granted him, Charlus was gaining. There were no straightaways here. In this tight, windy course, Harry was outmatched. He may have been the best pure flyer in Slytherin House, but he still could not yet compare to his brother’s rare ability.

Harry swerved harshly to the left, dodging not one, but two pillars. The bludger tailing him slammed into the second one, ricocheting towards Charlus and granting Harry a few more seconds. That was thankfully all he needed to find an opening and fly back out onto the pitch, streaking towards the still battling beaters at top speed. Charlus emerged too. The ball chasing Harry had punched a hole through the infrastructure for Charlus to fly through. Thankfully, the stadium and stands were held together by not only matter, but magic.

Due to his point of exit, Charlus was hot on Harry’s tail as they flew towards the beaters. As he flew, Harry saw it. A speck of gold not far from the beaters. But he had to keep Charlus from seeing it. He had to distract him. 

Luckily, Charlus was by now more pissed off with Harry than he was desperate to catch the snitch. His complete and undivided attention was fixated upon his brother, who, seconds before he had reached him, tore through the battling beaters, bludger hot on his tail. Charlus pulled up at the last second, raising his altitude by inches to miss the bludger, which had been hit back towards him by Fred Weasley. 

Just as he did, searing pain flared in his shoulder. When he’d been forced to adjust his trajectory, he had indeed avoided being hit by the bludger. Less ideally, he had put himself in prime position to be struck by the beater’s bat, just as Fred followed through with it after making contact with the bludger. Fred hadn’t looked to see if Charlus was coming. He’d just seen the bludger and swung.

The pain in Charlus’s shoulder was blinding, disorienting, even. White spots danced in front of his eyes and his vision swam. 

Seemingly to make things even worse, his suffering was not yet over.

The rogue bludger, which had failed to hit him all game, slammed forcefully into his right arm, sending him toppling off of his broom. And to add insult to injury, the last thing Charlus Potter saw before unconsciousness took its hold on him was his brother, grinning ear to ear as he held up his arm, still flying as not to get struck by the bludger.

There was an unmistakable glint of gold in his fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **First and foremost, thank you all for 1000 reviews! That is absolutely mind-blowing!**
> 
> **A quick note on Ron. He is acting like an absolute prat. There is a lot more going on with him than you think. This is not the typical Ron bashing trope it currently looks like. And no, he does not have the diary, before anybody assumes.**
> 
> **In other news this story was blatantly plagiarized without my permission and copied-pasted onto another site. I have been in contact with the site in question, and within the next 48-72 hours, the story will be taken down and the user’s account will be permanently banned.**
> 
> **For future reference, nobody has my permission to re-post this story anywhere. Nor will anybody ever have my permission to do so. The only possible exception would be for a translation. Even then, I would at least expect you to show the moral decency and common courtesy of messaging me first.**
> 
> **The excuse of it being fanfiction does not stand. JKR makes no claim to fanfictions, as she has said publicly on many occasions. I make no claim to the original series, but this is my intellectual property, especially when said culprit hasn’t properly cited the original source. I will move against anybody who re-posts this story, just as any author should if their work has been plagiarized.**
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> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 10th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **A massive shoutout to Wakefan from my Discord server for the title suggestion for this chapter. An additional thank you is extended to all Discord members who voted on the various proposed titles for this chapter, as well as my lovely Discord Editors who assisted me with this chapter:**
> 
> **Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	18. Warnings and Wake-Up Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**November 7, 1992  
The Quidditch Pitch  
10:08 AM** _

The moments following the conclusion of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match were dominated by frantic chaos on all sides. Thankfully, the limp form of Charlus Potter hadn’t been allowed to hit the ground. Before that could happen, his body had been caught by his teammates, Fred and George Weasley. Their reaction to his fall had actually been rather impressive. Harry thought that if nothing else, though the two of them might not get the shine of actually winning the match, they would likely be heroes within their own house for their spectacular catch of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Speaking of Charlus, Harry had to admit he was quite thankful his brother had not splattered against the pitch far below. They had their differences, now more than ever, but as much as Charlus annoyed Harry and the latter would not mind cursing the former quite severely at the moment, he didn’t want him dead, by any means.

Of course, all these thoughts came much later.

The actual thoughts running through Harry’s mind after his first-ever Quidditch victory were not nearly as organized as his later reflection. They were a cluster of chaos, confusion and euphoria. He didn’t allow himself a rest until the rogue bludger, which had not ceased its rabid pursuit of him when the match had ended, had been wrestled to the ground by Bole and stuffed forcefully back into the crate of balls, still resting open at centre field. Even in the restraints, both bludgers fought wildly to break free, but neither of them achieved that rather destructive desire.

Harry was free to bask in his victory with the rest of his team and house. As he was lifted victoriously onto the shoulders of Slytherins, young and old, he could not help but reflect that this was perhaps the first time in his life he had no objections to being touched, even if the clustered crowd wasn’t exactly to his tastes.

It was a wonder what euphoria could do for the human soul.

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

The rest of that day had passed in a blur. It seemed as if the entire school had universally agreed to forget about the debacle that had taken place one week earlier. Of course, Harry wasn’t naive enough to not realize the scorn of the school would be fixed fast upon him once more that very next morning. Perhaps now, more than ever, as their envy would now be levelled at him on top of their unfounded suspicion. Harry honestly no longer cared.

He’d spent ten years of his life being hated every moment of his existence. If the school thought they could break him with words and glares, they were sorely mistaken. Mind you, he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to the students ceasing their efforts to hit him in the back with stinging jinxes and other minor impediments. Though that could have had as much to do with the upcoming Quidditch match as it did the Heir of Slytherin implications. It was frankly hard to tell which one of those two things the school would prioritize.

Knowing the logic, or lack thereof, commonly employed by most of the wizarding population, Harry thought that prioritizing a Quidditch rivalry over a suspected criminal was a distinct possibility.

The party had stretched on for the entirety of the day in the Slytherin common room. Harry was, as Calypso and Cassius had predicted, the centre of attention. On the exterior, he smiled casually and easily fed into everything being thrown at him. On the interior, he was a little bit more than uncomfortable, but he didn’t show it. He had years of practice at not showing how he truly felt about situations he would rather not be in.

After a time, he’d needed a break from all of it. He’d gone to practice spell casting. Paranoid as he was, he hadn’t used the dungeon classroom that he and Grace often practiced in. That was still a meeting he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach. Instead, he had simply selected one at random and frequented it for much of the day. Cassius and Calypso, when talking to them later, seemed satisfied with the amount of time he had spent amongst his peers, so all was well in the end.

The only down part to the day, really, was when Daphne and Blaise informed him in hushed voices that they had spotted Grace looming close to the hidden entrance of the Speaker’s Den. They assumed she knew he was gone somewhere and was waiting for him. Harry thought the odds of Grace guessing the password were slim to none, but he thought reimplementing a Parseltongue password on the Speaker’s Den was something he needed to do at the first available opportunity.

He had nothing against Grace, but Harry didn’t want anybody finding that room. It was, even if all else failed, the one place he could always rely on for solitude and safety.

He had also met his father earlier in the day. It was something he’d firmly expected to be an uncomfortable affair, but the meeting was surprisingly pleasant. James applauded Harry on an extremely well-played game of Quidditch and told him, seemingly sincerely, that he was proud. Oddly, Harry felt no flutter in his stomach the way he had on those odd occasions when others had expressed pride in him. That was as good an indicator as any as to exactly how he felt about his father. It wasn’t even that Harry necessarily disliked James. He would just never be able to trust him again.

Peter had been there too, a man whom Harry trusted even less. The sixth sense within him which screamed whenever someone lied was constantly screeching every time Harry was in range of Peter Pettigrew. Everything about the man screamed of deceptions.

He even looked like a rat.

That somewhat awkward meeting hadn’t lasted long. James had needed to go check on Charlus one final time before he left the property. It seemed that Harry’s twin hadn’t suffered any serious injuries which would affect him long term, but apparently, it was going to be a long day for Charlus. 

After all of that had concluded, Harry was able to just lay back and doze off. It was the fastest he had fallen asleep in some time. Nothing that day had been nearly as jarring as Samhain, nor his last Occlumency lesson with Grace, but the fatigue had slowly accumulated and evidently, it had taken its toll on Harry.

Unfortunately, his sleep wasn’t overly restful, nor was it undisturbed. He was actually quite perplexed when he was woken some time in the middle of the night. This happened quite frequently, but it was normally in response to a nightmare. Harry didn’t remember any nightmares at all. 

He felt something brush against his leg and all at once, all wariness was quickly wiped away by adrenaline as he sat bolt upright, swiftly snatching his wand from under his pillow.

What he saw at the foot of his bed was the last thing he had ever expected. 

“Dobby?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the elf in question as he quickly cast the Muffliato charm on his hangings. As of yet, he hadn’t figured out how to tie that charm into his ward scheme. The problem was that the spell wasn’t exactly one which could be researched in a book for information. There were silencing charms layered in, but he trusted the traditional privacy spell far less than the one he had frequently used for the past fourteen months. 

Dobby looked rather downtrodden. His ears seemed to have a natural sort of droop to them and he looked as if the events of the past day had taken every bit as much a toll on him as they had the youth who sat in front of him.

Despite all of that, his ears seemed to perk up when Harry mentioned his name. “Harry Potter remembers Dobby’s name?”

Harry had to resist the urge to frown. “Our last meeting wasn’t exactly easy to forget, Dobby. And between the two of us, I don’t forget much.” Dobby very clearly took that to mean he had made an impact on Harry, for the little creature’s eyes quickly started to well up with tears of joy. Before he could start grovelling, Harry resumed speaking. “Last time you showed up, you almost got me killed by my uncle. So I’m curious, Dobby, what are you going to do this time?”

The elf looked taken aback. Whether it was at Harry’s swift reasoning or the fact that he no longer seemed drowsy at all, Harry wasn’t sure. “Dobby would never want to hurt Harry Potter, sir!”

“What about your masters?”

Dobby frowned. It seemed to Harry as if he was putting real thought into that question. “Dobby doesn’t think my masters be wanting to hurt you, Harry Potter.”

This actually surprised Harry quite a bit. He had suspected that some rich, snobbish Slytherin had sicked the elf on him during the summer in order to get him in trouble, or worse. Assuming Dobby wasn’t lying, and Harry was pretty sure he wasn’t, this changed things rather drastically. 

There was a thought floating around at the back of his mind, too. One that seemed far too convenient to ignore.

“Last time you showed up, you told me that there was a plot this year. A plot to make ‘terrible things happen at Hogwarts.’ I’m assuming those terrible things started on Samhain when Filch’s cat turned up petrified?”

Once more, Dobby looked taken aback. It seemed as if much like in the summer, he was caught off guard by the cold logic that Harry employed against him. “Dobby tried to warn you, sir,” the elf moaned. “Dobby tried to stop you from coming to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter didn’t listen.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you get me expelled for that rubbish over the summer if I could avoid it. By the way, whoever your masters are, give them a smack from me for that, will you?”

“My masters never told Dobby to stop the Potter twins from coming to Hogwarts.”

Again, this surprised Harry. According to Dobby during the summer, the elf had gone out of his way to stop Harry, and presumably Charlus from attending Hogwarts because they had “roles to play”, whatever that meant. Perhaps the elf’s masters actually had nothing to do with this. Perhaps he was just that dedicated. That persistent…

“Wait a minute,” Harry said as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “If your masters didn’t tell you to do all of this, I’m guessing you’d still rather Charlus and I weren’t at Hogwarts?” Dobby nodded. “You didn’t happen to petrify Mrs. Norris, did you Dobby?”

The elf looked incredulous. “Of course not, sir! Dobby would never do anything like that. Dobby is not even capable of such magic, sir.”

Whether that last part was true or not, Harry had no idea. For now, he decided to take the elf at his word. “Alright then, let’s take a different approach. Did you have anything to do with the bludgers?”

Dobby immediately looked nervous. “You mustn’t be angry, sir. Charlus Potter was furious with Dobby. He couldn’t believe Dobby did such a thing.”

“My brother does a lot of stupid things,” Harry understated. “Seeing as he’s currently regrowing his bones, I actually think he has a very valid point this time.” He fixed Dobby with a meaningful stare. “But don’t worry, Dobby. Unlike Charlus, I’m not surprised. Your stunt in the summer might have got me killed if not for my friend and her family. I already knew that you sometimes forget to think before you act.”

It was a rather blatant ploy on Harry’s part. Hopefully, he could guilt the elf into spilling something. He had no desire to get involved in this year’s mystery, but if he could find out some way to prove he wasn’t at the heart of it that was of little risk to him, all the better. And even if he couldn’t, information was hardly a bad thing. If anything, it might help him to not become the next Mrs. Norris. 

Harry had no doubts that these “terrible things at Hogwarts” were in reference to whatever had happened on Samhain. If that was indeed the case, it was only logical that the specific event in question had only been the beginning. A warning shot, perhaps. He very much doubted this supposed “Heir of Slytherin” would be sticking to creatures for long. Students might well be next, and any information that could help him and his friends to avoid that fate would be more than welcome.

Dobby’s ears drooped once more. “Dobby thought that his bludger would make Harry Potter go home.”

“Dobby, I’m going to say this very clearly and I want you to listen very closely, okay?” The elf nodded. “No matter what you do, I am not leaving Hogwarts. You’re wasting your time setting up these schemes because none of them will work. The best way you can keep Charlus and I safe is by telling me what’s going on and who’s behind it.”

“Dobby can only be telling Harry Potter what he knows already, sir. The Chamber of Secrets is open again. Hogwarts isn’t safe for students anymore.”

“Again?” Harry asked sharply. “Are you telling me that this isn’t the first time the Chamber of Secrets has been opened? And that whoever opened it isn’t bluffing? It really has been opened, then?”

The elf’s ears drooped. “Dobby has said too much, sir,” the elf said, downtrodden. Then, before Harry could react, Dobby vanished with a loud CRACK, leaving Harry to mull over all of that information in the confines of his bed. 

Sighing, he quietly slid open his curtains to pour himself a glass of water from his bedside table. To his surprise, there was something else resting on the surface. 

A piece of parchment with elegant, unfamiliar writing written across it sat there, seemingly innocuous. Carefully, Harry levitated it behind his hangings and therefore into the range of the Muffliato spell. He quickly cast the limited amount of detection charms he knew, but when none of them came up with anything, he frowned. Eventually, he decided that if somebody wanted to harm him, they probably wouldn’t have done it in the middle of his dorm room, so he finally picked up the parchment and began to read it.

_Harry,  
I know that our last meeting didn’t end as well as either of us would have liked, but I think we need to talk. _

_I would really appreciate if you would meet me at the normal time and place tomorrow evening, but understand if you won’t._

_Just give it some thought._

_Grace_

_**November 8, 1992  
The Library  
10:23 AM** _

That next morning, Harry and his friends found themselves diligently working away in the Library. Harry himself wasn’t behind on any classwork, but he had taken out a basic book on Arithmancy. It appeared as if most of their first year learning Arithmancy would be taken up by ensuring that the class had a strong foundation of mathematical knowledge. At least, that would be the first half of the year. Harry had always done well in maths during muggle school, so he was actually rather far ahead already. Some of the algebra was new to him, but not much of it. That’s what he was polishing up on now. Once he finished, he might actually be able to start learning the actual applications of Arithmancy, as well as his other classes, in which he was steadily pulling further and further ahead in by the day.

Harry, Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had chosen the most secluded corner of the library they could find. Now that the post-match chaos had subsided, Harry once more found himself at the centre of the whole “Heir of Slytherin” conspiracy, and he could barely walk down a hallway without getting glared and hissed at by passers-by. 

Considering this fact, the four of them were actually somewhat surprised when Pansy found them and plopped her things down beside Harry. Pansy was not at all a morning person, and she had clearly overslept this morning. Despite that, her countenance spoke of significance. It was in equal parts worried and gleeful, an odd combination to be sure.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked her in a low voice, subtly withdrawing his wand and preparing to cast his typical privacy measures. When Pansy subtly nodded to indicate doing so was probably a good idea, he did, and only then did she look at each of them in turn before coming out with it.

“A student’s gone missing.”

The air at the table was suddenly filled with tension. “Petrified?” Blaise asked.

“No, missing. He’s completely vanished. No writing on the wall, no hints, no nothing. He’s just… gone.”

“Another attack,” Daphne mused.

Pansy looked pensive. “Maybe, it’s hard to tell, really. I mean, I don’t think many people liked him, so it could’ve been anything. But it makes sense that it was an attack. He’s a muggleborn and it doesn’t look like he went willingly.”

“So there are some hints, then?” Harry asked curiously.

“Just one, and it’s not really a hint. The one who was petrified, it’s that muggleborn from Gryffindor. The annoying firstie with the camera.”

“Creevey,” Harry supplied, remembering his name from the sorting, “Colin Creevey.”

“Yes, him. When they went looking for him this morning, they didn’t find anything. Apparently, he was last seen in the Gryffindor common room last night after dinner. What they did find was his camera. It was laying on the floor near the Hospital Wing, and apparently there was damage done to it.”

“What kind of damage, exactly?” Blaise asked.

“I have no idea!” Pansy sounded genuinely annoyed by the fact. “That’s the other thing I’ve been trying to figure out, but nobody seems to know. I’m sure the higher-up professors do, but they’re obviously not telling.”

“Better question,” Tracey asked with amazement, “How do you even know all of this?”

Pansy had actually kept her word since joining their group more than a month ago now. It had seemed to have taken about a week for the habit to be broken, but after that, she had addressed Tracey perfectly in line with how she would address any prestigious, pureblood heiress. “I have my ways,” she answered elusively. Tracey rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, obviously realizing she wasn’t going to get anything else done.

“Harry,” she asked, “Do you mind helping me with the Transfiguration homework? I’m a bit lost.” Tracey was quite good at both Potions and Charms, but Transfiguration had never been her best subject.

“Me too, while you’re at it?” Pansy seconded, turning puppy dog eyes on Harry. In return, Harry just rolled his own eyes, but he did end up helping the two of them finish their homework — an essay he had finished on Friday evening.

_**Later that night, in a room in the dungeons...** _

Harry was more than a little bit anxious for the second consecutive occasion on which he was nearing the room in the dungeons which he frequented with Grace. This time, the reasoning behind it was quite different.

Last Sunday, he’d been expecting a rather dramatic dressing down for the incident pertaining to Malfoy in the common room. The same incident which Grace was accidentally (sort of) dragged into. Tonight, Harry was not so much nervous as to what might happen to him. He was nervous because he was worried a topic of conversation might come up that he had been trying quite hard to bury.

The only person whom Harry had truly talked about the Dursleys and his home life with had been Daphne. Tracey suspected more than she knew, and the two of them had shared an emotional heart to heart in July, but he hadn’t opened up to Tracey yet in the same way he had done to Daphne. 

Harry had a decent amount of trust for Grace. Or at least he had before last Sunday’s incident. He had never trusted her unconditionally, but she was certainly one of the few people alive whom he trusted at all. Now, he wasn’t entirely sure where they stood. He would need to hear her side of things, and it was a side he frankly didn’t want to hear. Because he knew once it was brought up, deep, uncomfortable conversations about the nightmares of his past were sure to follow. 

And to think, he had been having such an easy, normal year until the night of Samhain.

Then again, he had been having such an easy, normal life until the night of Samhain eleven years ago. The troll had also put in a rather impressive attempt at killing him that very same night a little over a year ago. The conclusion that Harry was slowly drawing from all of this was that Samhain was just not his night. Maybe next year, he would be better off locked away in a bunker on the night of October thirty-first.

Refocusing, Harry noticed that he was once more standing right in front of the door. His ring told him nothing, which was quite impressive. Even when Malfoy’s older friends had set up wards last year, his ring had alerted him to their presence. Standing directly in front of the door that led into the classroom, nothing was being broadcast to him at all. He was pretty sure Grace was likely inside, but his ring was none the wiser. Clearly, the wards were well-designed. Taking into account whom Harry knew had cast them, that fact wasn’t exactly surprising.

With a sigh, he reached out and took the doorknob, slowly and deliberately pushing the door open as he blanked his face and tried hard to clamp down on his emotions. Lately, he’d been working diligently to learn to control and suppress them. It was a skill he had nowhere near mastered as of yet, but Emily had assured him it wouldn’t take long. Apparently, he would have it down by late February or early March, according to her. Possibly earlier, but she hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up too high.

Harry really wished it was a skill he had already mastered, for just seeing this room once more caused his anxiety to rise. Grace was already present and waiting for him. She was sitting at one of the desks in one of the number of comfortable armchairs. In spite of that, she wasn’t lounging. Quite the opposite, in fact. She looked entirely alert, her eyes were sharp and focused and she was leaning forward, her foot impatiently tapping against the ground as she waited. As soon as Harry entered the room, her bluish-silver eyes found him at once and Harry felt frozen in place by her stare. For an irrational moment, he thought she might try to legilimize him.

She didn’t. She simply gestured for him to take a seat across from her and very hesitantly, he obliged her silent request. There was a long, awkward moment of silence between the two of them before finally, Grace sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Harry didn’t answer, primarily because he had no idea how to.

“I didn’t really expect you to,” she admitted. “I’m assuming you’d rather avoid the topic altogether, but it sort of has to be brought up.” Harry tensed, but he did his best to keep his face impassive as not to give anything of significance away. 

“Well, let’s start with the basics that I’m assuming probably don’t mean a whole lot to you but that I feel obligated to say anyway. I’m sorry, Harry. That was an awful mistake on my part. I thought I had an idea of what was going on in your home life after this summer. Mother… told both myself and Charlotte what she knew, which was everything that Celia had told her. I was wrong. I… didn’t expect to see any of that. I was curious to see what your thoughts were about Samhain. Specifically, about the Malfoy incident. I didn’t expect it to spiral like that, and I certainly didn’t expect to see what I did. 

“When I felt your emotions, I froze and started operating off of instinct. That’s when the memories from your childhood came up. Breaking a connection you form with Legilimency isn’t difficult, but it does have to be done consciously unless the defending Occlumens breaks it on their own. I was too taken aback, too surprised. The thought never even crossed my mind, which in hindsight, is rather horrible. I didn’t realize how terrible that probably was for you until I tuned back in and felt the emotions it was triggering. It was… not my proudest moment. 

“I have a habit of looking at everything clinically. Situations, problems, people. I look at everything from my perspective and the perspective of what needs to be done to get us to the ideal situation. I… don’t think of other people’s emotions sometimes. I’m not using that as an excuse. That was borderline sociopathic of me, and it was disgusting. I’m just telling you why breaking the link never even came to my mind. If I would have tuned into your emotional reaction sooner, it would have jogged me. But I didn’t. 

“I’m sorry for that, Harry. I completely understand if you don’t trust me in your mind right now. We don’t have to work on Occlumency tonight if you would rather not. I just hope that I’ll be able to earn back your trust at some point in the not-so-distant future.”

Again, heavy silence permeated the room. All in all, Harry was actually rather happy with that response. He had feared more than anything that Grace would press him about the Dursleys. 

But she hadn’t.

She hadn’t even mentioned them except in passing. Beyond all else, there was no pity in her words. That was another thing he had dreaded, but it didn’t seem to be there. She had been clinical, just as she’d described herself as. Harry was also quite the clinical person. He could understand the approach, and her explanation actually made sense to him.

It was probably the same thing he would have done if the roles were reversed, and he sensed no malicious intent. That was not to say he was in the mood to have her go anywhere near his mind at the moment. That was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but he wouldn’t hold the incident against her. It would be noted and remembered, but not weighed with any degree of importance, at least not right now.

“If it’s all the same to you, I would rather not work on Occlumency right now. It’s… not even that I don’t trust you, necessarily. I just… have a hard time with the idea of anybody in my mind right now. Especially because those thoughts and memories will probably keep hovering around the surface for a while.” 

Grace nodded. “I completely understand that.” She paused. “I’m not going to talk to you about them,” she prefaced. “I know you wouldn’t be interested in having that conversation at all, least of all with me. I’m not even going to ask you what you want to do about them, even though I personally think they can burn and rot. I’m just going to say one thing about all of this and then move on.” 

Tentatively, Harry nodded, prompting her to go on, though he had become rather tense once again.

“If you ever need to talk about it, let me know. I’m not going to pretend I can understand the situation at all, because I can’t. You would probably tell me that I had life extremely easy next to you, and you would be completely right. But I am fairly good at reading people and situations and between the two of us, I rather like you. My sister does especially, as does Mother and Father. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Harry was quite sure it was a lifeline he wouldn’t be using, but he nodded appreciatively nonetheless, and the gesture was more than sincere. It left an odd, heavy lump in his throat to think that people like Grace were actually willing to hear the problems of a random boy which had no impact on them. There was always the chance that he was being manipulated, but he personally didn’t think that to be likely.

“Right, well, I thought we might try something different tonight. Something less stressful for you, but something that I have a feeling you’re going to be very interested in.” Harry raised an eyebrow in question, showing his intrigue. “Technically, common practice is to not teach Legilimency until the student has progressed to level three or higher in Occlumency. I’m not going to make a habit out of teaching it to you, but I don’t think one lesson will hurt, if you’re willing.”

Harry had to suppress the widening of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if this was Grace trying to get his trust back or not, but it was certainly interesting. And it was certainly a bold move on her part. Harry had no doubt that he would never be breaching her “shields” unless she wanted him to. Still, the thought of letting anyone voluntarily into your mind when the option to not was available was baffling to Harry.

“You’re… sure?” 

“Positive.”

“Alright then, where do we start?”

_**November 9, 1992  
The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom  
11:58 AM** _

After a long, theory-based lesson, Gilderoy Lockhart had finally told the Slytherin second years that it was time to pack up their things and prepare for lunch. Much of the class found themselves quite relieved to hear that proclamation. Lockhart was a surprisingly difficult professor. Hurst had been more so, but Lockhart still expected a lot of his students.

Speaking of his students, one such raven-haired boy was about halfway through packing his things when he heard the professor call his name. “Mister Potter, stay behind please. I’d like a word with you, if you’d be so kind.” 

Daphne’s head snapped around at once. Her look towards Harry was inquisitive, but he merely shrugged. He had no more idea what this might be about than she did. Seeing as he also had no inkling as to how long or short this “word” might be, he told his friends to go on ahead and wait for him in the Great Hall. When all had cleared the room, Harry walked towards the teacher’s desk. Lockhart was looking directly at him, and Harry had the impression the man had been doing just that the entire time he had been speaking with Daphne, Blaise and Tracey.

“You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”

Lockhart nodded, piercing Harry with a deep, blue-eyed stare. “Warn you would be more accurate, but yes, that was the general idea.” Harry could not help but feel the shift in mood and subconsciously, his hand drifted minutely towards his wand. Not that he would have had any hope of outduelling the honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, but that was another matter altogether. 

“Warn me, Professor?”

Lockhart’s eyes narrowed. “We both know what I’m talking about, Potter. Do the both of us a favour and stop playing ignorant, will you? It would be the most polite course of action in your current predicament.”

Now, it was Harry who narrowed his eyes as he tried to piece together exactly what this could have been about. He’d answered several questions correctly in class and had actually earned Slytherin House a handful of points. He was fairly certain he was the top-scoring student in his year within Lockhart’s subject, so he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his academic standing. Then, his mind rested on the reason why everybody seemed to be out for his head at the moment, and he suddenly remembered exactly how insistent Lockhart had been in maintaining his stance against Harry on the night of Samhain.

Harry couldn’t help it. He actually sighed and very nearly rolled his eyes; it was a near miss. “You actually think I’m the Heir of Slytherin?”

Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say. 

Lockhart’s face scrunched up as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk in front of him as he made hard eye contact with Harry. With a jolt, Harry wondered if Lockhart was a Legilimens. According to his reading, the number of people who chose to learn Legilimency was typically far fewer than those who learned Occlumency, and even that was a fairly small number. But with all of the man’s accolades, Harry decided it was a good idea not to make eye contact, just in case. Lockhart seemed to take this as a sign of weakness, which Harry had expected. Better he suspect him guilty than forcefully enter his mind.

“I’m going to give you one warning, Potter. You are my top suspect. You’re the only one who makes sense right now and you were caught dead in that corridor. I don’t believe in coincidences like that. From my experiences, where there’s smoke, there is usually fire. I can’t prove you did it. Hell, I might be wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time. But just watch yourself if it is you. I’m watching you and if you’re the one petrifying students, you haven’t a chance. I’ll catch you before long.”

If nothing else, Harry could respect the bluntness and honesty. 

“Dismissed.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He left the room at a brisk pace, wearing a blank expression. It was lucky for him that he had no plans of getting involved with any of this. Still, it might not be a bad idea to look into Gilderoy Lockhart. And he knew of at least one person who at least knew something about the man that he did not.

“What did Lockhart want?” Daphne asked him several minutes later, practically as soon as he had sat down in the Great Hall.

Right then, Harry was experiencing a fair amount of indecision. Should he tell his friends that Lockhart thought him the Heir of Slytherin? He saw no reason to trouble them with it, at least not yet. It didn’t seem as if it was going to be important. 

Hopefully, Lockhart, or Dumbledore, or any other member of the staff would catch the actual perpetrator and this whole fiasco would be over. Barring that, Harry’s plans were to stay clear of the whole thing, so Lockhart being watchful of him really shouldn’t be too much of an issue. At worst, he would be caught out after curfew. It might look bad at the time, but it was hardly a damning offence that could implicate him to anything.

“He asked me about Samhain,” Harry responded, deciding to tell a half-truth. “He was curious as to whether or not I saw anything in that corridor before my brother and his sidekicks showed up and tried to play hero.”

There was a long pause at the table before Pansy asked the question that was obviously on the tip of everybody’s tongue, the question which the group at large had blatantly ignored for the past nine days. “Did you see anything?”

“Nope,” Harry answered, completely honest this time. “Just the cat hanging from the torch and the writing on the wall; same as everyone else. I didn’t exactly have much time. I only beat my brother there by about a minute, and then I sort of got jumped, so…”

“Twat,” Blaise muttered. “He’s even glaring at you now.”

“Let him, I hardly care.” He glanced around the table. “Where are the firsties?” It was a fair question. Charlotte, Ginny and Laine all appeared to be absent.

“They took some sandwiches to the library, I think,” Tracey answered. “Doing an essay for Snape.”

That made sense. Harry and his year-mates had always had Potions on Monday mornings last year. It would make logical sense that Charlotte and her friends, being the new crop of first years, would share the same schedule as Harry had the year previous. Why make a new schedule every year if you could recycle as much of the old one as possible? It probably couldn’t be done after third year due to the additional classes, but everyone took the same courses up until at least third year.

“I’m going to join them,” he decided, taking a few sandwiches of his own before getting to his feet. “I want to take out some books on Arithmancy.” That part was actually true, and he did plan on doing that, but it wasn’t the real reason he was leaving. By now, his friends were used to him disappearing. They had History after lunch anyway. It wasn’t as if Harry was actually going to attend that class.

Minutes later, he found himself up in the library and after a brief scan of the room, he found who he was looking for. 

He briefly debated just walking up to Charlotte and asking for a word. He very much doubted that either Laine or Ginny would spread it around. The latter was more of an unknown to him, but she seemed the quiet type who seemed to pretty much follow the other two. 

Deciding against that course of action, Harry took refuge behind a bookshelf which rendered him basically invisible from the girl’s vantage point. From there, he began to project the mental equivalent of begging for attention, hoping that Charlotte would notice. He was probably royally botching the message, but he thought it possible she would pick up on it.

He was rather surprised when he felt… something. It was as if somebody had just dropped something into his mind. It was vague, not remotely specific, but he understood the general meaning. It was more of an impression than a thought, really, but he knew that Charlotte would find him in a few minutes. 

He remembered, back in the summer, when Charlotte had explained her ability to hear the thoughts of others. Harry had thought even then that it was vaguely similar to an ability of his own. Granted, he’d mostly needed eye contact in the past, but he had always been able to sense general emotions, moods and lies. He had wondered whether or not that was some sort of Natural Legilimency of his own. Now more than ever, he found himself curious. Something to ask Emily, perhaps.

As he waited, he caught a brief snippet of an argument over what appeared to be higher-level Arithmancy. Two upper-year Ravenclaws, he suspected. Nobody else would argue that passionately over such a mundane topic.

“I’m telling you, the answer has to have three sig figs!”

“Are you kidding? It has to have four. Look, the number with the lowest number of significant figures is 3.460. That’s four sig figs right there.”

Harry watched in amusement as the other boy argued back. They were both eventually kicked out of the library by Madam Pince, who had been giving them her death glare for quite some time now, and Harry could suddenly feel a presence moving closer to him via his ring. 

When Charlotte drew near, he smoothly stepped around the corner. “Clever,” she said quietly, offering him a small smile. 

“I have my moments,” he said in return. “How long did you tell your friends you’d be gone for?”

Charlotte quirked a brow. “You weren’t using an eavesdropping spell? I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know any to use.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Why the tone of surprise? Do you have any recommendations?”

“No, I don’t know any of them either, though I wouldn’t mind learning a few. I never really had need for them. It just seemed like something you would know.”

“It isn’t, but thanks for the idea.” Charlotte’s lips twitched. “Back to my original question though.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really give them a timeline, I sort of just said we would be back. Why?”

“You have Defence after lunch, right?”

She blinked. “How do you possibly know that?”

“I figured out you probably had the same schedule as the one we had last year. We always had defence after lunch on Mondays.”

Charlotte actually looked surprised. “That is… shockingly impressive that you just know that off the top of your head. Most people in my year still have to check their timetable. Do you know mine off by heart?”

“If it actually is the same as ours from last year, which I’m pretty sure it is, then yes, I do. I’ve been over this with Daphne, Blaise and Tracey, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually explained it to you. For now, let’s just say I remember things and leave it off at that.”

“Uh-huh,” Charlotte said, “whatever you say. One last question before we move on. Is this a… new thing of yours?”

“What, remembering things? No, I’ve been able to do that forever.” 

Charlotte nodded, an oddly pensive expression in place. “Alright, fair enough. So what was so urgent?” Harry subtly jerked his head towards the door. Charlotte sighed. “You have to be the most paranoid person I know.”

“Everything I’ve learned over the last fourteen months tells me that paranoia gets you places.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lead the way then.”

Within a few moments, the two of them found themselves alone in an empty classroom. Funnily enough, it was the same classroom that Malfoy, Selwyn, Nott and Macnair had locked him up in last year.

“Well?” 

“You know things about Lockhart,” Harry said bluntly. “I’m not sure what, but they’re important. You knew right away he wasn’t a fraud. Even in the book store, you told me I was wrong, and as far as I know, you had never met him before that day.”

“What’s your point?” 

“You don’t deny it then?”

“Of course I don’t deny it. What’s the point in playing word games if the other person is so convinced they know the answer that nothing you say is going to change their mind.” She scrunched up her face. “There’s also the fact that it’s true.”

“Yet you haven’t told us anything.”

Charlotte seemed to ponder that. “Harry, I can’t tell you much. Partially because I don’t actually know much about Gilderoy Lockhart at all. Let me finish,” she said forcefully, seeing that he was skeptical. “I know a lot about other things that let me make very educated guesses on some things about Lockhart. I would have bet my family’s fortune that he wasn’t a fraud, but I didn’t technically know that. I just knew a lot of other things that all pointed in that direction.”

“Okay, point. But it still doesn’t answer the question. Why don’t you tell us what you assume about him? Or whatever it is you know that lets you make guesses?”

“I’ll just be honest with you and we can be done, because I doubt you’re going to let it drop unless I am. The short answer is, I can’t. As in, I physically can’t tell you what I know because magic won’t let me. I don’t know what I can and can’t say, exactly, because it’s up to magic to interpret it. But I’d rather not start telling you something and then be forced to stop, only for you to have context that leads you in a completely different direction.”

“Oaths?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Harry wondered what Charlotte could possibly know that would be so important it was classified under oath. The Weitts family was known for probably being the most secretive family in the country. Could it be family business, of some sort?

“If I ask you a question and you can answer it, will you?”

Charlotte suddenly looked suspicious. “That depends on the question, I guess. And why you’re asking.”

“Fine, since you were so honest with me, let me do the same in return. Gilderoy Lockhart thinks I’m the Heir of Slytherin.” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “He thinks I’m to blame for both Samhain and for Creevey. He basically just told me that he’ll be watching me like a hawk and that if I am the one going around petrifying cats and kidnapping students, that I’m completely screwed because he’s going to catch me.”

“Okay,” Charlotte admitted, “That’s actually a pretty good reason for being interested in Lockhart.”

“I certainly thought so.”

“So what’s your question, then?”

“Do you know or think that Lockhart is a Legilimens?”

Charlotte pursed her lips, obviously thinking about that. Eventually, she shook her head, actually looking disappointed. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I have no idea. This isn’t even me not being able to tell you things, I actually just don’t know. I have no proof that he is, and there aren’t really any real hints, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he knows Legilimency. I’m just not confident enough to say either way. I’d rather disappoint you than tell you the wrong answer.”

Harry sighed. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He took out his wand and tapped it on his wrist, causing the time to appear in front of him. “Speaking of Lockhart, you should probably get to Defence.”

“Yeah, I should,” Charlotte agreed. “For those of us who don’t have our friends’ timetables memorized, what class do you have next?”

“History, but I don’t go to that class.”

“I might start doing that.”

“Go for it, as long as you have faith you’ll still do well on tests and exams. I just go for the tests so I can write them. I read the textbook and get on well enough.”

“I might try it for a test or two and see how it goes. Anyway, I’m off. Enjoy… whatever you’re going to do.”

“Take out books on Arithmancy and then go work on some spell casting.”

“Well, like I said, enjoy.”

“Thanks, have fun with Lockhart.”

“I will. I’ll be sure to tell you if he tries to legilimize me.”

Harry laughed. “I appreciate it, Charlotte.”

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

_Emily,  
I had a few questions about Legilimency._

The pause was perhaps a bit longer than normal, but not by much. If Harry’s memory wasn’t so sharp, he probably wouldn’t have ever noticed the minor discrepancies in the promptness of her replies.

_Legilimency, this time? You have kept up with the Occlumency practices I recommended despite your newfound interest in its sister art, correct?_

_I have. I just had some questions about Legilimency._

_Very well then. Ask away, I shall answer what I can._

Harry took a moment to best decide how to word his questions.

_I have two main questions, but they both sort of tie into other things._

_That’s fine._

_First of all, the more pressing issue I have. Is there any way to tell for sure whether or not someone is a Legilimens?_

_Not until that person makes a move, I’m afraid. If somebody is a Natural Legilimens, an extremely skillful witch or wizard can sometimes tell if they are in-tune enough with magic to read its flow. But with respect, you are nowhere close to being at that level. I suspect Dumbledore to be the only person in that castle who has the ability to do that._

That was interesting, but it was more troubling than anything else. He would have much preferred an affirmative answer to that question.

_So, if I’m not sure, my best option right now is to avoid eye contact?_

_Yes, avoid any eye contact and keep your mind clear at all times. Monitor the thoughts in your mind very closely and constantly be on the lookout for any irregularities or thoughts that seem out of place. I know it’s stressful and unfortunate, but soon enough, you will be able to adequately defend your mind. At least against those who are not terribly skillful._

Harry sighed. He had somehow expected an answer to that effect, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Not that he was hiding anything damning in regards to the Heir of Slytherin, but he had no interest in Lockhart roaming around in his mind.

For that matter, he had no interest in anybody in his mind at all.

Still, loathe as he was to admit it, it was a stark reminder of exactly why it was so important that he persist with Occlumency despite the hiccup with Grace the previous week. It had been quite a bad mistake on her part, but if Lockhart may be making attempts to poke around his head in the future, he thought that getting back to lessons in Active Occlumency was going to be a necessity going forward.

_Alright,_ he wrote back, _that really sucks, but it’s not surprising. I had one other question and then I’ll stop bothering you for the night._

The pause was practically non-existent this time.

_I believe I have said something to this effect before, but you’re not a bother at all, Harry. There are few things in this world I enjoy more than magic, and you have been more than a pleasant pen pal. If I had not been enjoying the correspondence, I simply would have cut it off long ago. Go ahead and ask your question._

Again, Harry felt an odd warmth in his chest. After spending weeks identifying emotions with perfect clarity in preparation for emotional manipulation, he thought he might finally be able to recognize the sensation. Turning his mind inward, Harry isolated it easily enough. It was an emotion that had been rarely felt in his life, but he was indeed able to accurately identify it with little issues.

Pride, and perhaps a bit of content.

_Alright,_ he responded, not entirely sure how one was supposed to reply to a statement like that. Merlin, he was clueless with emotions. Even if he could now understand his own, how to actually deal with them was such a foreign concept. _I have an… admission to make._

_Go on._

_I think I might be a Natural Legilimens. If I am, it’s to a lesser extent than my friend, but I’m not sure it’s possible to be more or less of it._

_There are certainly levels to natural Legilimency. The key component is that a natural Legilimens has pre-created links in place to the minds of others. The difference is the strength of said links. The most powerful witches and wizards aren’t always the ones with the strongest Natural Legilimency links, either. My question is, why do you think you’re a Natural Legilimens?_

_It’s… kind of complicated. I’ve always been able to tell when somebody was lying, but I can’t really explain how. I’ve always been good at reading people and the general mood of a room. But earlier today, I sort of had it trigger in my mind. To get my friend’s attention without being obvious about it, I sort of just try and blast out my thoughts and hope she picks up on them, and she always does. Well today, I think she did the same thing and I noticed. I basically blasted out that I wanted to talk, and I felt… something? Not even really a thought, more of an impression. The general idea was “I’ll be there in a few minutes” and she was._

_Judging by the limited amount of information I have, I would say that you are almost definitely a Natural Legilimens. Even if you can’t pick up precise thoughts, what you have described certainly fits many of the common characteristics. Here is another one. Do you ever find that in conversation with people who you know are unaware of Occlumency that you just know exactly what to say? Oftentimes, it isn’t even a conscious thought. But thinking back, has this ever happened to you?_

Harry didn’t need to think about it. The answer was a resounding yes. Almost every teacher he had ever charmed in muggle school fell into this categorization. Hell, the same could be said for Longbottom last year…

This was something new to ponder on for certain.

__**November 13, 1992**  
The Potions Classroom  
10:46 AM 

With satisfaction, Harry bottled what he considered to be a perfect potion. Or at least as close as he had ever gotten whilst working with Neville. The two of them had kept up their common practice of last year. Meaning, they worked together at least once every two weeks, often once per week. Neville was still by no means good at potions. Harry actually still considered him to be below average in the field, but he’d come a very long way since they had started to work together last spring. 

“That might be the best one we’ve ever brewed,” Neville commented after Harry returned from handing the potion in to Snape.

“It might be,” Harry agreed. “It’s definitely one of the best. You’ve improved a ton since last spring. It’s been a lot easier to brew with you lately.” Harry could practically see the euphoria leak from Neville as his face split into an ear to ear grin.

“Cheers, Harry! You’ve been super helpful the whole time. I wish we were able to talk more, actually.” The last admission was made in a rather small voice, but Harry graced Neville with a smile in return, trying to set the boy at ease.

“Yeah, it’s a bit complicated with the whole Gryffindor and Slytherin thing. I’ve also just been a bit caught up this year. Quidditch has taken up a lot of time, and I’ve also been trying to get further ahead in my classes and the like.”

“It’s okay,” Neville assured him. “I don’t blame you, or anything. Just a thought, that’s all.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, I… don’t think you’re the Heir of Slytherin.”

Harry smiled thinly. “This is why we get along, Neville. Your tie might not be my favourite colour, but at least you have some sense. More than I can say for my brother or his two stooges.”

“Hermione’s really smart,” Neville defended.

Harry shrugged. “Being smart and having sense aren’t the same thing. A person can have both, but not always.”

Neville looked conflicted. He was too polite to contradict Harry but too loyal to his own housemates to accept any criticism of Hermione. Really, it was an impossible situation.

Instead, he chose to broach a more interesting topic of conversation. “She asked about the Chamber of Secrets, you know?”

Loathe as he was to admit it, Harry found himself grudgingly interested. He might have had no plans to get involved if things escalated further, but natural curiosity was a strong force. He could be informed and still stay out of things. There was hardly any rule against it.

“Who did she ask? I doubt anybody knows much about it other than what’s written in _Hogwarts, A History.”_

“Binns,” Neville answered to Harry’s surprise. “It was the first time I’d ever heard anybody ask him anything in class. He didn’t seem keen on answering, but Hermione talked him into it eventually. She said something like how myths were based on facts, or something.”

“I never said she wasn’t intelligent. Did he say anything interesting? Anything that wasn’t written in _Hogwarts, A History?_ Assuming you’ve read it, of course.”

Neville shrugged. “I have, but it was more sort of me skimming it. I… don’t really remember much from it. My memory isn’t very good, you see.”

Harry had noticed as much, so the admission came as no surprise to him. “Fair enough. What was it Binns said?”

“He said that Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten into an argument over blood purity. Over who should be let into the school, you know. Slytherin wanted it to only be purebloods, I think. Either way, Gryffindor wanted everybody to be able to attend. There was supposedly this big fight over it, and Slytherin ended up leaving. Binns said that’s all known information. No rumours about it.”

Harry nodded. It matched what he’d read on the subject, both in the infamous compendium of Hogwarts and in other, historical texts.

“Anyway, the Chamber of Secrets is apparently part of a legend. He said that Headmasters and Headmistresses have been trying to find it for years, but none have managed it. When Slytherin left the school, the legend said he left some sort of monster behind. Some sort of monster that would purge the school of all the Muggleborns. Apparently, only his true heir can open it and unleash the monster.”

Harry frowned. All of that had indeed been in Hogwarts, A History except for that final tidbit. According to the book, Slytherin had left a monster behind out of spite. But the book never really clarified a purpose. It sort of just made it sound as if the monster was going to one day escape and ruin the school. He wondered where Binns had gotten that particular bit of information from. Or whether he had just assumed it based on the reasons for Slytherin’s departure. Harry wasn’t really sure whether or not setting up a monster to carry out your bidding a millennia later was possible, but he supposed anything might well be possible with magic. Perhaps he was just too ignorant to see how it all fit together.

And the bit about a true heir definitely hadn’t been in _Hogwarts, A History._

At that exact moment, the bell rang, signifying the end of the period. Harry and Neville had finished early, so up until now, they had been talking quietly at their station. Wishing his closest Gryffindor acquaintance a good day, Harry joined Daphne, Pansy, Blaise and Tracey in leaving the classroom as all four of them started making their way up towards the Great Hall.

“You’re getting much better at potions,” Daphne complimented. “You must be. You and Longbottom have finished second the last few times. Considering how miserable he is at the subject, that’s impressive.”

Harry shrugged. “He’s not great, no. He’s getting better though. He can at least follow simple instructions now, and I don’t have to watch over his shoulder like a hawk the whole time. It’s progress. Coaching him through the brew definitely doesn’t slow me down as much as it used to.”

Daphne just hummed. “If you say so. Want to work together next Friday? It seems fair. You had the disadvantage during this double-period. You can have the advantage next one.” Her confidence was casual. She wasn’t going out of her way to brag, it just sort of came up and she saw no reason to downplay it.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me,” Harry agreed with a smile. “Once I get further ahead in my other subjects, I might start looking into some more advanced potions and theories. I’ll probably pick your brain a bit when I do.”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“What does one talk about with a Gryffindor?” Blaise asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I admit I don’t spend much time with them, but it seems like most of them would struggle to keep up.” Tracy and Daphne smiled amusedly whilst Pansy hid a giggle behind her hand. She seemed to rather enjoy Blaise’s dry sense of humour.

“Depends on the day, really. Most of the time, it’s just normal gossip.” 

By now, he had decided not to inform his friends of anything that Dobby had told him. He saw no reason for them to know. If he wasn’t getting involved, he saw no reason for them to. Plus, that was rather sensitive information. Harry trusted them, but parting with important, delicate information was still something he was rather hesitant to do, especially when he had nothing to gain by doing so. But Neville’s gossip was harmless, really. Aside from the tidbit about the monster’s supposed purpose, all of what Neville had told him could be found in easily accessible books.

“Apparently, Granger asked Binns about the Chamber of Secrets. More amazingly, he actually stopped reading from his notes long enough to answer her.”

“Truly astounding,” Blaise agreed with a smirk. “It’s an occasion for the history books. We should start a petition. I wonder how Binns would feel about sliding it into his curriculum.”

“Shut up, you prat!” Tracey said with a laugh, gently shoving Blaise before turning back to Harry. “What did he answer with?”

“Long story short, Slytherin and Gryffindor had a fight over whether or not muggleborns should attend Hogwarts. Gryffindor won the argument and apparently, Slytherin left. Legend has it he left this fabled Chamber of Secrets behind with a monster hidden inside. Only his true heir is supposed to be able to open the chamber and unleash the monster within. When it’s released, whatever is inside is supposed to purge the school of all muggleborns.”

“How delightfully dramatic.”

“Watch it, Greengrass,” Blaise protested. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

Daphne sniffed. “It’s hardly my fault you’re too slow. I know it’s hard, but get that brain of yours into motion, will you.”

“Now, now, Daphne, play nice. I have to let you get one every once in a while.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Watch it, Greengrass,” she quoted in a poor imitation of Blaise’s silky voice. “That’s supposed to be my line. If that’s you letting me, Zabini, I’ve misread this conversation.”

“Well, obviously.”

Harry could not help but smile as they began to climb the marble staircase. 

He really did enjoy the company of his friends.

“Anyway,” Tracey cut in, “I don’t suppose any of you are going to look more into the whole Chamber of Secrets thing?” At once, all of them looked at Harry.

“I don’t plan on it. If it’s all the same, I’d rather not get caught up in drama this year if I can avoid it. I think I could be doing more productive things than looking up myths and legends.”

“But what if they’re true?” Pansy countered. “Whoever petrified the cat wrote on the wall saying they were the heir. It was probably the same person who kidnapped Creevey.”

“If I found out about some myth that would scare half the school to death, I would probably use it too,” Daphne pointed out reasonably.

“I have to agree with Daphne on this one,” Blaise admitted with a sigh, sounding truly disappointed by the fact.

Pansy glanced to Harry, clearly interested in his opinion on the matter. “I probably would too,” he added. “Granted, it would actually be sort of brilliant to advertise that if you actually were the heir.”

“Why?” Tracey asked, confused. “Wouldn’t that just be giving it away?”

“Look at our reactions. Most reasonable people would assume that the whole thing is either a myth or that the person attacking cats, or students, or both is just using it. If they actually were the Heir of Slytherin, them claiming that would probably lead everybody down the wrong path. Headmasters and Headmistresses have tried to find this thing for centuries, is what Longbottom told me Binns said. If that’s true, they’d probably be wasting their time.”

“So to summarize,” said Pansy, “Either option is possible.”

Harry shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Well that won’t do,” she decided. “I’m going to write home and see if Mother or Father know anything. I’m sure they’d love to hear about all the dangerous things happening at Hogwarts. It might help them and Lord Malfoy prove how useless Dumbledore is as a Headmaster.” She smiled. “And who knows? They might even know something useful they don’t mind telling me.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not touching this one, but you go right ahead, Pansy. Do tell what you find, will you?”

“Of course.”

As if it had ever been a question. Sharing gossip was probably Pansy Parkinson’s favourite hobby. That or sorting through the tangle of gossip and finding out what was truth and what was lies. She was disturbingly, unnaturally good at that, too.

_**Later that night, in the dungeons...** _

Charlotte was confused. 

Earlier that day, she had received a letter at breakfast, courtesy of her Head of House. Apparently, Professor Snape required her presence in his office that night at nine o’clock. What exactly Snape could possibly want her for, she had no idea. To her knowledge, she hadn’t done anything worth note as of late. Unless it was about her antics involving Mulciber and Jugson, but that had been some time ago. If the two of them were going to run to Snape over the whole incident, she was reasonably sure they would have done so already. Even if they had, it wasn’t exactly as if they could prove it. Unless, of course, it had been a prefect or professor who found them. If that had been the case, Charlotte was pretty sure she would have been called to Snape’s office a lot sooner.

The only thing she could think of was that she had scored particularly well on their practical quiz in Charms. She knew that she had performed extremely well, but that didn’t seem right to her either. She was quite certain that Harry regularly recorded jaw-dropping scores on his assignments. He had never been called to Snape’s office to discuss them, as far as she knew.

Needless to say, Charlotte was more than a little bit curious to see what Snape wanted from her. Curiosity was also one of the more dominant qualities within Charlotte. 

That thought was quite prevalent now, when she was so lost in thought that she didn’t even notice the two people sneaking up behind her.

Thankfully, being a prodigious Natural Legilimens had its perks. 

She could sense… something change around her. Reflexively, she dove to the side. It was fortunate that she did, because magic swiftly occupied the space she had been standing in just moments earlier. It was hard to tell exactly what curse had been fired towards her back, but she was pretty sure it hadn’t been pleasant.

When she stood to her feet and stared down Alex Jugson and Derrick Mulciber, she was quite certain of it.

Unlike that time all those weeks ago, neither boy looked prepared to back down and Charlotte’s pulse quickened. She had never practiced duelling extensively. Her mother had given her some basic tutoring in self-defence, but she could only hope it would be enough. She was easily more skilled than each of the boys individually. The problem was going to be the two of them working together. That and the fact that both of them had probably been spoon-fed nasty curses for years.

That was what Charlotte thought, at least.

The problem actually turned out to be the figure who stepped out of the nearest classroom, which had been warded. Charlotte had sensed the wards, but her senses had been so focused on Mulciber’s curse that she had barely noted it.

How unfortunate a miscalculation that turned out to be, for it was this figure’s red spell that hit her in the back, causing her to slump to the floor in a heap.

_**Meanwhile, in the out of order girl’s bathroom on the second floor…** _

Charlus felt emotions churn inside of him as his two friends peered at him expectantly. Both of them were currently debating whether or not Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. Ron was completely convinced and obviously unwilling to change his stance on the matter. Hermione didn’t seem to have a strong opinion either way. In her own words, all physical evidence pointed to the fact, and there were no better suspects. Charlus wanted nothing more than to deny the fact.

“You have to admit, it makes sense,” Ron said darkly. “He was the only one in that corridor. He was just staring at the wall with that calculating look of his, like he had been studying his work.”

“He is also unnaturally good with magic,” Hermione mused. “As if he’s read advanced tomes that none of us have access to, or something.” She frowned. “The thing that doesn’t make sense to me is that he’s a halfblood. Why would he care about blood purity? All the evidence points to him, but I don’t see a motive. Why go after muggleborns in the first place?”

“He hated the muggles he lived with,” Charlus said quietly. “They… apparently didn’t treat him great. He doesn’t talk about it much, but maybe he holds a grudge.”

“Must be,” Ron muttered darkly. “As if a snake needed a reason to hate muggles.”

“I suppose we could always check,” Hermione said nervously. “It couldn’t hurt, could it?” 

Both boys’ eyes found her at once. “How could we ‘check’ something like that?” 

“Well… there’s a potion that lets you look like anybody else. If we play it right and don’t get caught, we could probably get close to him and just… ask him.” She shrugged. “If we plan carefully, I don’t see too much about it that could go wrong, right?”

_**Back in the abandoned classroom…** _

Charlotte came to with a painful jolt as her head snapped forcefully to the side and she felt an odd, stinging sensation on her face. It wasn’t until a few seconds later, as the memory of what had just happened flooded back to the forefront of her mind that she realized she had been woken by a rather forceful slap to the face.

“Wakey, wakey, Weitts.”

Charlotte hissed indignantly as she felt her face get slapped again. This time, the impact was a bit harder, and, being fully awake, if a bit groggy, she felt the full, dull force of the impact. Her eyes snapped open, and when she caught the sight of Derrick Mulciber and Alex Jugson standing over her, they practically shot sparks. She tried to scramble to her feet, or reach for her wand, but she could do neither.

Her legs were bound with magic and her arms seemed to be bound to the leg of a desk. She didn’t know it, but the desk in question was currently being held in place by a strong Sticking Charm.

To put it simply, Charlotte wasn’t going anywhere.

“Morning, sunshine,” Mulciber mocked, getting to his feet once more as he stared hatefully down at her. Obviously, it had been he who had slapped her. When she got out of there…

“You look upset,” he noted. “What’s wrong, Weitts? Not so fun being the nail, is it?”

“When I get free, Mulciber, I’m going to show you exactly what it’s like to be the nail.”

“That would be a bad idea,” Jugson warned. “If you didn’t notice, we had help.”

“Help that doesn’t even have the courage to show up, face to face.”

“Help that doesn’t find you to be worth their time,” Mulciber corrected. “Powerful help, Weitts. This is the end of all of this. It was supposed to be a one and done, but then you had to go and make it worse. Well, we’re going to end this right about now.”

Charlotte sneered. “You better get me killed or expelled, Mulciber. Otherwise, you have no chance.”

Mulciber’s eyes gleamed. His family was synonymous with cruelty. There was a reason his grandfather was and would stay in Azkaban for the rest of his life. “That’s the beauty, Weitts. You’ll never know who did it.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve seen your faces.”

“The potion, Alex?” Alex Jugson reached a pale hand into his robes and removed a small vial of dark, purple potion. The liquid was so dark it was nearly black. “Since there’s no way in hell you know what this is, let me fill in the gaps, Weitts. It’s called Celare Identitatem. Ring any bells?” 

Charlotte’s face stayed impassive. She would not give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. However awful that potion was, she was going to occlude her mind and no reaction would slip. 

“It’s rough translation is hide identity. Alex and I have added some of our own blood to this potion. What will happen once you drink it is that you’ll fail to remember us in our last interaction.” He smirked cruelly. “You’ll remember the interaction itself though. We wouldn’t want that to leave that pretty little head of yours. The message wouldn’t exactly… sink in.”

With that sadistic smirk still in place, Mulciber withdrew a long, silver, ornate dagger from his robes. Instinctively, Charlotte knew that it was no ordinary knife. She could feel the apprehension rolling off of Jugson. He might have been a bit jaded, but he was clearly not a sadist. Evidently, Mulciber was a sociopath, or something. 

“When I say sink in, I mean it literally. This dagger’s wounds can never be healed. They scar terribly and they don’t fade… ever.” He smirked. “I imagine little Miss Perfect’s ego might take a hit if we cut her up a bit and stick her to a wall for the rest of the school to see, new scars and all.”

Charlotte’s face didn’t change, but she felt her body tense. That level of public humiliation… yes, Mulciber had read her well. That would be quite the hit to her mental health.

“We might need to clean up the blood though. Wouldn’t want to hide those scars.” 

Then, hungrily licking his lips, sadistic glee prominent in his eyes, he advanced on her with the knife...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Before anybody reviews and says Mulciber’s and Jugson’s plan is too dark or advanced for an eleven-year-old:**
> 
> **Minor spoiler here, but they did not orchestrate that. As for who did… you will find out later in the year. Oh, and Mulciber actually is a sociopath. That will come up much later in the story.**
> 
> **Next chapter will be the first of a three-part title that will take us up to the Yule break, so I hope you are all excited for that.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **Editor’s Note (Luq):**
> 
> **Hmm...I wonder what’s going to happen next. Oh, and also, that whole sig fig thing in the library was a last-minute addition by me. It was sort of an inside joke on Discord**
> 
> **Cheers**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 17th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **A special thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc for their contributions this week.**


	19. Dangerous Duels and Deadly Drama Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**November 13, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
9:29 PM** _

Charlotte had stayed completely impassive right up to the point when Mulciber had sliced clean through the sleeve of her robes and pressed the tip of the dagger into the flesh of her forearm. She couldn’t help it. She screamed a terrible, high-pitched scream. It wasn’t a normal cut. It felt nothing like a normal cut. There was far too much blood for it to be a normal cut. The room swam in front of her eyes, both at the pain and sudden loss of blood.

“Just a taster,” Mulciber hissed near her ear. “Now for something… more noticeable.” To her horror, he began to extend the dagger towards her face.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

With a thunderous _bang,_ the door to the abandoned classroom slammed open and before Charlotte’s brain could catch up with what was going on, she saw Jugson fall out of the corner of her eye. Mulciber quickly withdrew the dagger and dove to the side. With her vision still swimming but no longer obscured, Charlotte could see who had entered the room, and she actually shivered at the sight.

It was Harry, but he looked nothing like the boy she was accustomed to seeing.

He looked absolutely enraged, and Charlotte’s hazy mind was half trying to analyze how the air around him seemed to change with his moods, and half trying to figure out exactly how the hell he had found her.

_**Sometime earlier, in the Slytherin common room…** _

Harry’s vivid eyes stayed fixed on the entrance to the Slytherin common room even after Charlotte had left. It was one of the rare nights where he actually stayed in the common room. Presently, he was trouncing Blaise in a game of chess, much to the boy’s dismay. It annoyed Blaise even more because Harry hadn’t grown up playing chess, even though he knew the basics. What Blaise had overlooked was the fact that Harry’s mind and memory were both impeccably sharp. He could remember every move and mistake he had ever made in previous chess matches from the prior year. The first few times they had played, Harry lost decisively. However, thanks largely to his memory, he was an exceptionally quick study. The matches had changed significantly, and Harry was currently beating Blaise without putting in much effort.

He’d spent more time looking at the entrance to the common room than he had on the game.

‘What are you looking at?” Blaise asked, clearly a bit frustrated. “Or are you just trying to prove you can beat me without paying attention?”

“I just have other things on my mind, that’s all.” 

He found the circumstances leading up to Charlotte’s exit from the common room to be suspicious.

The few times he had received invitations to Snape’s office, they had never come by mail. They were either delivered by another student or Snape had told him to be there at the end of a Potions lesson. He’d said this to Charlotte, too. She dismissed it as a coincidence. After all, both times Harry had been called to the man’s office- once over Pansy’s ploy and the other to receive his new broom- had been rather special circumstances. Maybe for something more mundane, Snape wouldn’t go to the trouble of being so dramatic. Harry had agreed, not wishing to press the point. 

But he knew that was not Snape.

Snape was nothing if not dramatic. 

His start-of-term speech to the first years had proven it, as had pretty much every introduction to any lesson he had ever given.

What was odder to Harry was the time.

He had never heard of a teacher requesting the presence of a student later than eight o’clock.

Of course, either of these things, or even both of them could easily be chalked up to simple coincidence. Most probably would make that assumption, even. Charlotte certainly had.

But not Harry. 

Harry would admit that this year, he had been exceedingly paranoid, but he thought he had all the right to be. Especially after growing scales and being set up as a criminal. 

Whether he was being overdramatic or not, only time would tell, but the longer Harry waited for his friend to return, the more persistently his instincts warned him that something was amiss.

_**Back in the present…** _

His green eyes were practically glowing straight out of his skull and his normally perfect hair seemed to stand on end as if it had been subjected to a sudden bolt of lightning. Another curse left his wand, immobilizing the falling form of Alex Jugson. By now, he’d stepped into the room and was looking for Mulciber, who had darted behind a row of desks as he made for the door. Harry’s wand trained on him at the last second as he fired off a curse Charlotte had never heard before. It missed by mere inches, but it left a long, deep slash in the wall. Mulciber made it out the door and Harry whipped around, obviously about to follow him when he paused, clearly remembering that Charlotte was still in the room.

He cursed violently as he turned, eyes widening upon her. “We need to get you to the hospital wing.”

So obviously, the wound was bad. 

Or the amount of blood, she supposed.

Or both.

“Not like this,” Charlotte muttered, weakly. She was more than just dizzy now. She felt ill, faint. “They can’t see me like this… nobody can see me like this.”

Charlotte thought she saw an odd look on his face. Sympathy? Understanding? But before she could register that, his wand was shockingly aimed towards her. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Before she could protest, her world once more vanished in a familiar flash of red light and for the second time that night, Charlotte was rendered unconscious.

_**About an hour later, at Potter Manor...** _

With a loud whoosh, the small fire located just off of James Potter’s favourite sitting room erupted in green flames, sending emerald sparks of light dancing through the air, suddenly and vibrantly illuminating the dimly-lit room.

Out of the fire, his dark silhouette starkly apparent against the vivid light of the flames, which licked hungrily at his black overcoat to no avail, stepped Peter Pettigrew. He’d come from a long day at work. Not eventful, physically taxing or anything of that sort, but long. Monotonous, above all else, which had only made it feel all the longer. One might have expected him to look dishevelled or exhausted. Perhaps even frustrated that he had agreed to this meeting in the first place two weeks ago.

But none of that described Peter Pettigrew’s outward appearance as he deftly stepped from the roaring flames and into an all too familiar area within Potter Manor.

Peter looked awake, alert and even eager. When he first stopped his rapid spinning and settled in the correct grate, there had even been a spark of anticipation dancing in his watery-blue eyes, giving them an odd, extra sort of gleam. Of course, none of this was visible at the time, as it was disguised by the flames, which were nearly blinding in contrast to the low light around them. By the time Pettigrew stepped out of the fireplace, his face was stony and impassive. Suddenly, he looked very much as if he had been dreading this meeting for a very long time, even if such things were blatantly untrue.

A minute or so later, Peter was greeted by James, who wore casual robes and looked a lot more on edge than his best friend of twenty years. 

“Wormy.” Peter noticed that the cheerful note which was usually prevalent in his friend’s voice was noticeably absent. There seemed to be a firm layer of tension surrounding James and for the briefest of moments, Peter felt a slight pang of pity for what James was about to learn.

A slight pang which he ruthlessly suppressed as he simultaneously berated himself for his brief moment of weakness.

“James,” he greeted in return, his voice obviously sounding more solemn than he actually felt. “Out early today?”

“Not so much out early. Moody just didn’t make me spend hours longer there than I needed to.”

Peter shrugged. “Same thing, really. The old dog’s always doing that to everybody. Any time he doesn’t, you’re off early, as far as I’m concerned.”

James sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Merlin, what’s the Auror Office going to look like without him?”

“Probably a lot less chaotic,” Peter answered dryly. “You’ve heard the rumours as well then?”

“Yup. Word around the office is that Scrimgeour is going to announce his retirement at the dinner the night after the solstice. From there, Bones will take over.”

“And she’ll run a ship tighter than a noose,” Peter summarized succinctly. “Moody’s chaos doesn’t really fit well with her.”

“She’d never fire him, though. He’s earned way too much respect.”

“Nope,” Peter agreed, “she’ll either wait for a mistake or slowly try to talk him out of it. Merlin knows if anyone deserves a happy retirement, it’s that man.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get it,” James said with an unwilling smile. “I doubt retirement is going to be kind to Mad-Eye. I can’t picture him not being busy. It’s a scary thought, actually. Thinking of what he might get up to if not kept busy and in-check.”

Peter shuddered. A scary thought indeed. “Shall we… er, get to business then?” Looking resigned, James nodded, and the two men made their way into the comfortable sitting room adjacent to them, taking seats in two, squash armchairs opposite one another. Peter made to begin but before he could, James raised a hand to forestall him. Then, hand still raised, he snapped his fingers, summoning a house elf.

“Firewhiskey, please.” He hesitated. “Make it two bottles.” His voice was an odd mixture of exhaustion and fear. The elf popped back into the room a minute or so later with James’s request, along with two glasses. James poured himself one and offered the bottle and a glass to Peter, who did likewise. James downed his first glass immediately, sighing contentedly before pouring himself a second and finally looking expectantly towards Peter. “Okay,” he said through a deep, steadying breath, “I’m ready.”

Or, at least, he had thought he was ready.

Peter gave him an honest and clinical evaluation of what he suspected to have happened to Harry as a child. Of course, Peter knew exactly what had happened when Harry had been a child. Veritasirum was obscenely expensive and he was no legilimens, but the Imperius Curse worked just as well on those with no defence for it. On command, the Dursleys had spilled every secret about Harry Potter, and now James was being buried under their collective weight.

He learned how his son and heir had brutally worked and lived life like a house-elf. He learned about how he’d been unjustly punished for offences such as besting Dudley on a test as a child. He learned about how, when the Dursleys decided punishment was needed, the punishment was often carried out crudely and physically. He even learned about how his son and heir, a future lord of one of Magical Britain’s most prominent houses, had spent most of his formative years locked in a spider-infested broom cupboard under a rickety set of stairs. 

By the time Peter had finished his tale, James had already consumed what was probably an unhealthy amount of Firewhiskey. Later, James would reflect on the moment and wonder exactly how he had stayed coherent.

“Fuck,” he muttered, not quite knowing what else to say to the jarring revelations that had just ploughed straight through him as if he were unsuspecting roadkill in the path of a herd of angry hippogriffs.

Peter downed his own glass, finally being able to now that his tale had concluded. “Yup,” he said with a heavy sigh and dramatic smacking of his lips, “That about sums it up, I’m afraid.”

“No wonder why he hated me. Oh… fuck. I knew it was bad but… FUCK!” James was suddenly coming to realize not only why Harry had been so hostile at first, but why exactly one day earning his forgiveness for a second time looked like a bleak, insurmountable mountain that he may never be able to climb.

And that wasn’t all.

Since the petrification of Filch’s cat, James’s brain had never quite been able to stray away from the seemingly unreal possibility that Harry might somehow be the Heir of Slytherin. Actually…somehow was too ambiguous a word. He suspected he might know how, on some level. Up to this point, he’d comforted himself by repeating over and over again that there was no motive for Harry to strike out against muggleborns and, in the case of petrifying the Caretaker’s cat, he supposed, squibs. 

Yet now, after all of this, James could understand exactly how Harry could have possibly come to hate muggles. Whether he actually hated them or not was currently a mystery, of course, but he could see how a hatred could have blossomed over time. And he could see how once fully matured, that cynical weed would have slowly but surely polluted other things, possibly turning one to extreme measures like seeking the help of legends to achieve their morally corrupt goals.

“But James,” Peter said in what the Potter Lord was certain was supposed to be a reassuring tone of voice, “Surely, Harry’s not the Heir of Slytherin. Even if he were to hate muggles, he couldn’t possibly be. The Potters aren’t descended from Slytherin. I did some digging into your lineage over the past couple of weeks and there’s no possible connection to Slytherin. Unless you somehow think he, a twelve-year-old boy, is the one physically doing the petrifying, I don’t see how it’s possible.”

James deflated slightly in front of Peter’s eyes. There were some secrets that even he couldn’t know. Some secrets that were fearfully guarded so closely that revealing them would be considered the highest act of political treason. “I guess you’re right, Wormy.” James hadn’t quite realized that though Peter had no idea what the context was, the man knew immediately that James was lying. 

James stayed blissfully ignorant of this fact, snapping his fingers once more and summoning the same house elf that had popped in earlier that night. “More Firewhiskey, please. A lot more Firewhiskey.”

_**Several hours later, in the hospital wing back at Hogwarts…** _

Charlotte did not wake for some time. Even whilst unconscious, she had realized that this time, she was out for far longer. Possibly, the high number of painfully unpleasant dreams she experienced whilst in the clutches of Morpheus had something to do with her accurate assessment of the situation at hand. Nightmares would be a more accurate description of the terrible things that Charlotte saw. One painful image flashed seamlessly into the next, like her own personalized, muggle horror movie, if it had been brought to life and made so vivid that she hardly realized she was dreaming at all. The only thing that truly separated these visions from that horrific analogy was the fact that every transition was punctuated by a bright flash of red light and a familiar, searing pain in her forearm. 

After some time, Charlotte did wake up. She was too dignified to scream, but much of her wanted very badly to do just that. Thankfully for her dignity, her Occlumency, while not on the level of her Legilimency, was very solid. She managed to suppress all of the negative emotions that surged to the forefront of her mind, gently easing them back into the depths of her psyche for later evaluation. Right now was not the time to scream.

Looking around the dimly-lit room with its pale ceiling and taking in its sanitary, artificial scent, Charlotte swiftly realized where she was, if for no other reason than weeks earlier, whilst he had been unconscious, she had visited Harry in this very room.

She was in the hospital wing.

“Awake, are we?”

Speaking of Harry, Charlotte recognized his voice. That was another trick with Occlumency. One could commit things to memory and recall them perfectly, so long as they actively chose to do so once the thing happened. In the case of voices, she did this whenever somebody she knew spoke. It was a practice her mother had instilled in her and Grace. Though her family motto did not centre at all around paranoia, it was certainly a quality that they lived by. Her mother had justified the practice easily enough. If a person was masked, disillusioned or disguised in any such way when they spoke, she would know their identity, so long as whichever method of disguise they employed didn’t change their voice as well.

“I suppose so.” She felt a small swell of pride when she heard her own voice come out calm and level. She really did love Occlumency. Calm and level was certainly not how she internally felt at the moment. “What time is it? How long have I been out?”

“It’s around midnight,” Harry informed her. “You’ve been out for almost three hours. Nothing too serious. You lost a terrifying amount of blood, but a few blood-replenishing potions fixed that easily enough.”

Charlotte tensed before asking her next question and, to her disgust, her voice came out small and vulnerable. “She couldn’t heal the scar, could she?”

“No.” Harry’s voice was different. It was low, and Charlotte could tell he was trying very hard to modulate it. Clearly, he didn’t like the fact much more than she did. Nevertheless, she appreciated his honesty, even if the answer itself sickened her beyond belief.

“Bastards!” she hissed in a hateful whisper, her voice quavering as she took deep, calming breaths. She would have cried right there if not for her own mental control and for the third time that night, she was intensely grateful for said control over her emotions.

Harry nodded curtly. “Mulciber and Jugson,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you knew that already, but just in case they did anything to your memory.”

“They were planning to,” Charlotte said in a small voice. 

“The potion, I take it?” 

Charlotte nodded. “Please tell me that’s destroyed?”

Harry hesitated. “It’s not.”

“Where is it? Please tell me they didn’t get away with it? If they got away with it-“

“Charlotte, calm down.” He stepped closer to her bed and pulled up a chair. Before, he’d been leaning casually against the wall. For a moment, Charlotte worried his movements would wake the matron. Then, she realized that this was Harry she was thinking about. Of course, he had privacy spells in effect. Now that she opened her mental senses, she could feel the magic around them, thick and heavy in the air. How he had managed to sneak in here was another matter altogether, but she felt that they had more important business on hand, so she didn’t ask.

“Who has it, then?” 

“I do. If you had told me your memories were tampered with, I would have given it to Pomfrey, or Snape, or whoever would need to examine and hopefully reverse it.”

“And now that you don’t need to do that?”

Harry’s face darkened. “I don’t imagine this potion is at all legal, whatever it is.”

“I’ve never even heard of it until tonight, but I’m sure it’s not.”

“Well then, I doubt Dumbledore can keep them in Hogwarts when I shove this under that crooked nose of his. If we’re lucky, the fuckers might even get legally charged.”

Charlotte had never heard Harry curse with such vulgarity before now. It was odd and took her aback. This was the most unhinged she had perhaps seen him thus far in their relationship. Except for Samhain, when he had brutalized Draco Malfoy, but that was another matter altogether. The surprise at his tone and then soft, warm feelings of its implications were not enough to crush her sharp and immediate reply.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are not giving that potion to Dumbledore, or Snape, or anybody else. You’re not telling anybody about this, either.”

“Charlotte-“

“And you are not getting involved in this!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Those two dickheads just assaulted one of my best friends with a deadly weapon. There is no way I’m not getting involved with this.”

Charlotte sighed; this conversation was going to go down a road she would rather not cross. “What if I told you that said friend really didn’t want you involved?”

Harry frowned deeply. “I would say that said friend better have a very good reason for wanting me to stay out of it.”

Charlotte met his eyes and her stare was hard. “I have to do this on my own, Harry.” Her voice was small. Not quite feeble, but it somehow sounded inadequate.

“Why?”

“Pride.”

“Elaborate.”

Charlotte huffed, not at all pleased with how this conversation was going thus far. “Because I hate feeling powerless,” she admitted. “It’s… not a feeling I’m used to. I was raised with every advantage possible, and power was preached to me forever. I don’t just mean magical power, either. Power, to me, is control. I’m… a bit of a control freak.” 

Idly, Harry remembered her sister making the same admission back in July whilst in the confines of her bedroom at Weitts Manor during their first-ever long, one on one meeting. That had been the day Harry had agreed to protect Charlotte in exchange for direct tutoring in the Mind Arts. 

“When I was in that room,” Charlotte continued, audibly shivering in spite of herself, “I never felt like I had less control. And then… this.” She touched her forearm gingerly, though it still lay under the sheets, so Harry couldn’t see it. “All of it. I need to do it myself. It’s personal and I need… I need to get control back, myself.”

Harry looked to Charlotte as if he were pondering very deeply. Inside the mind of the forsaken Potter, there was a war going on as two opposing storms brewed and clashed forcefully with each other. 

On one side was the protectiveness Harry held towards all of his friends, mixed with his promise to Grace. He had been tormented for years, and allowing anybody to do that to any person he cared for didn’t sit well with him at all. And, he had promised Grace that he would keep her little sister safe.

But the other side of him… damn his empathy, was screaming for Charlotte and her situation. The feeling was so relatable. For opposite reasons, granted. Charlotte had been in control her entire life, so losing it was jarring because it was a sudden and forceful shift away from the comfortable normality she had grown accustomed to. Harry, on the other hand, had never experienced what it felt like to control anything until he had arrived at Hogwarts fourteen and a half months ago. He hated the feeling of being powerless above all else. His mind remembered what it felt like being bound by Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn. Charlotte’s situation really wasn’t all that different.

But even that was a contradiction. If Harry let Charlotte go at the group of boys alone, he would feel powerless once more, for his actions wouldn’t be able to directly influence the outcome. An outcome he was deeply interested in, both as Charlotte’s friend and as a person who had promised her older sister that he would manage such outcomes. Even if he hadn’t liked Charlotte, pissing off Grace Weitts would never have landed on his to-do list. It actually ranked quite high on his list of things to never touch with a forty-foot pole.

This time, it was Harry’s turn to sigh. “What if we work together? You’ll still be getting your revenge personally. It’ll still be you gaining back control, and-“

“No.” 

“But it doesn’t-

“Merlin, you’re impossible!” Charlotte exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that it was the dead of night. Both pre-teens were suddenly very thankful for the privacy wards that Harry had erected long before Charlotte had even awoken. 

“There’s something else, isn’t there? Another reason you don’t want me involved. One you don’t want to tell me.”

“I didn’t want to tell you any of this!” Charlotte bit out. Harry knew she wasn’t truly upset with him. Becoming snappish in a high-pressure situation was something he could very much relate to, so he didn’t hold it against her in the slightest. She shut her eyes tightly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” Charlotte’s primary grievance had been something that Harry could very much relate to. If that trend continued, there was a very real possibility Charlotte’s most recent statement could be the furthest thing from the truth.

She looked sheepish. “Actually, you might understand. I… spoke without thinking.” Harry’s lips twitched. Ah, the stereotypes. Millions of teenage boys and girls alike screaming to their parents that they could never understand their problems. It was the main plot point of countless angst-filled teenage dramas.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Charlotte hesitated. It was very clear to anyone with a set of eyes or an ounce of intellect that she was looking for any way out of spilling whatever it was that was on her mind. After she clearly found no methods to do so, she visibly deflated, but still mustered up enough energy to glare vehemently at Harry. “This does not leave this room… ever.”

He had a feeling anything other than immediate acceptance wouldn’t be taken favourably. “Charlotte, you can tell me anything. If you haven’t noticed, you’re not the only one with secrets. I understand how important they are more than most people.” After a long, tense pause, Charlotte let out a dramatic sigh and began to speak in a resigned tone of voice.

“I can’t have help with this, because it’s just going to prove what everybody’s been saying this whole time, and even before I got to Hogwarts.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m just Grace Weitts’s little sister. There’s nothing special about me, I just come from a rich family and have a talented older sister. Everything I ever do at Hogwarts will be because of Grace. Anything I do at Hogwarts that isn’t because of Grace won’t mean anything, because she’s already done it. What can I do? Get an O+? Nope, she’s done that already. Be a Prefect? Nope, she’s done that too. Be Head Girl? Guess what? Grace has done that too. The only thing I could do is join the Quidditch team, and you’d never catch me dead doing that. 

“If I go and run off to my older, more powerful friend, it’s just going to be that all over again with you. Then, even when Grace is gone, the one percent chance I have of being anything other than Grace Weitts’s little sister is gone. At that point, everything I do is only going to be because of Harry Potter. It will be the same thing all over again. I might never make it out of Grace’s shadow, even if I’m going to try with everything I have for the rest of my life, but the last thing I need is a second shadow.”

A heavy silence permeated the hospital wing as Charlotte looked pointedly down at the floor, trying to fight tears from blossoming in her eyes as she shuffled her feet. She couldn’t look up. She couldn’t bear to see the look of disgust on Harry’s face at how immature and childish she was. He must be laughing at this. It had taken him what? A month to step out of the oppressive shadow cast upon him by his twin? He must be wondering why Charlotte was making such a big deal out of it. Wondering what was so difficult about it, why she was being so childish.

On the contrary and unbeknownst to Charlotte, Harry felt his heartstring tug. 

Yes, he could understand that very well. Being his own person and free from all that came with being Charlus Potter’s brother was his dearest ambition. It was, above all else, what he desired to one day accomplish. For different reasons, mind you. Charlotte’s was due to her own sense of inadequacy. Harry felt that, sometimes, though it had more to do with his upbringing than anything else. And he felt it more around people like Charlotte herself, as well as Daphne. But oh yes, he understood very clearly, and during that moment, he knew exactly what Charlotte had been planning. He knew exactly why she had made her moves this year, and he could see how every single one of them tied into her plan.

It appeared that she had bitten off more than she could chew tonight, but try as he might, knowing her intention and now understanding her motives, Harry couldn’t find it within himself to fault her.

“Okay,” he muttered softly, causing Charlotte to nervously lookup. To her surprise, she saw none of what she had expected. She saw an odd blend of compassion and understanding in his eyes. 

But it was definitely compassion. Not pity, thank Merlin. There was none of that at all; Charlotte knew that for obvious reasons.

“You win, I’ll leave you to it.” He paused. “If things get really serious and whatever plan you work out backfires, I will get involved.” Charlotte nodded her understanding gratefully as warmth surged up towards her chest. It was so intense that goosebumps rose up all over her arms and neck. “I understand perfectly. Just… please be careful, Charlotte.”

She nodded, offering him a rather watery smile. If he noticed the emotion in her eyes, he didn’t comment on it. “Thank you, Harry.”

He felt the ward he had placed outside the door trigger. Somebody was waiting outside, and Harry instinctively knew exactly who it was. 

“You have a visitor outside, I should go.” Wary of any eavesdropping charm Grace might be using, Harry crept towards Charlotte, leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Between the two of us, Grace never got two O+’s in a year. Give it some thought, okay. I’ll help you in any way I can.” He almost jumped in surprise when he felt Charlotte take a vice-like grip on his hand. He turned back to her, and met those entrancing, bluish-silver eyes. 

There was something different this time. Those eyes had always spoken of power, composure, and control. They had been the eyes of an oncoming storm, as grey, impassive and unwavering as the force of nature itself. But tonight, for perhaps the first time ever, Harry could see an extreme amount of vulnerability within them.

“Will… will you teach me to fight?” Charlotte asked in little more than a whisper. “Not help with this, just… you know… for the future?” She scowled as soon as she said it, and Harry could practically feel her self-hatred. Charlotte obviously didn’t love the idea of asking for what she probably viewed as charity. “I’ll teach you something in return,” she hastily whispered.

What could she teach him? Politics? Intricate details about the Wizarding World that he didn’t already know? She could probably teach him a great deal about both, but somehow, neither seemed like Charlotte’s style. 

“Teach me…”

“Legilimency.”

Harry frowned, making sure his Muffliato was still in place before speaking next. Perhaps Grace knew of a way around it. Harry wouldn’t put it past her, hence the whispering. It still made him feel better to know the spell was still in effect, even with that fact in mind. “Aren’t you not supposed to learn Legilimency until you’re a level three Occlumens?” Grace had taught him one lesson, but that had been an exception.

“Not everyone,” Charlotte said softly, gently pushing him towards the door before he could argue. Before he exited, she got in one last remark, one that made his eyes widen. “Especially not people like us. Natural Legilimintes have their own rules.”

‘Damn,’ Harry thought as he nodded respectfully to Grace, gesturing for her to go in. He knew they would be having words about this at some point in the future, but that point was not yet now. ‘Always has to get the last word in, that one.’

_**Meanwhile, back at Potter Manor…** _

By the time Peter had left Potter Manor late that night, James was exceptionally drunk.

Despite his drunken state, he had enough mindfulness left at his disposal to think back on what terrified him the most about their conversation. 

The one thing that Peter himself was ignorant of.

_“But James,”_ Peter had said just hours earlier, _“surely, Harry’s not the heir of Slytherin. Even if he were to hate muggles, he couldn’t possibly be. The Potters aren’t descended from Slytherin. I did some digging into your lineage over the past couple of weeks and there’s no possible connection to Slytherin. Unless you somehow think he, a twelve-year-old boy is the one physically doing the petrifying, I don’t see how it’s possible.”_

As James had reflected on at the time, there were some… family secrets that even his closest friend wasn’t aware of.

James stepped into the Master Study of the manor and looked carefully around the room. Behind his desk sat a massive, ornate golden plaque, emblazoned with the Potter family crest. It was taller than James by at least a foot.

“Sanguis honorem tuum.”

The plaque swung open like any ordinary door, revealing an unbelievable sight behind it.

The room James had walked into very much resembled a Gringotts vault. Not just in its architecture, but in what was stored within it.

Piles of heaping golden galleons stretched upwards towards the ceiling, and piles of ornate, ancient jewellery were dotted across the room.

But that wasn’t why the room was so hidden, nor was how it tied into the dilemma involving the probability of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin.

That reason was emblazoned upon much of the jewels, as well as some of the books that were littered through the vault-like room.

A faded, triangular symbol containing a circular shape and vertical line. One that connected the Potters to a hidden lineage that they had masked centuries earlier.

A lineage that directly tied House Potter to the man who had founded the house of serpents.

How Slytherin’s gift would trigger in Harry when it had never manifested in a Potter, not to mention the fact that James was technically first in line for the lineage, he had no idea. That fact alone should have made it impossible for Harry to be the Heir of Slytherin.

But who knew?

Many mysterious things had circulated around the Peverell family for centuries. Even now, hundreds of years after its death and wide-believed extinction, perhaps there were still mysteries that had not yet been unravelled.

_**November 15, 1992  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:31 PM** _

Exactly two weeks after Grace’s last Legilimency probe went astray, the two of them were finally back in their room of choice and once again, Grace had been permitted to delve back into Harry’s thoughts. It was a process that she carefully eased back into. At first, the intrusions were little more than light brushes against his psyche. It took some time before she was confident enough in his calm state of mind to try a more forceful intrusion once more. 

This time, it went off without a hitch. Not just once, but repeatedly. There had been once or twice, near the beginning, when she had seen very brief flashes of what she knew to be his home life before Hogwarts. This week, as soon as those images arose, she hastily retreated from Harry’s mind, a fact which the younger Slytherin was profoundly grateful for.

Harry had been extremely nervous to dive back into these sessions. He had known the nerves were irrational. He did trust Grace with this practice, but they had been there nonetheless. If it hadn’t been for his natural sense of paranoia being exacerbated even further by Lockhart’s not-so-subtle threats and their possible implications, he might have taken far longer to dive head-first back into an endeavour which was intrinsically linked to potentially allowing others unfettered access to his thoughts.

But Lockhart’s warning had bordered on a threat, if not been across that line. It was something that Harry was entirely unwilling to chance. The man certainly knew of Legilimency. There was just no way, in Harry’s opinion, that he could have done all the things he had accomplished without stumbling across information on the art. Whether he was a capable user of the art or not was still up for debate, but the outcome of that debate wasn’t something that he was willing to put to chance.

It was all of that which had pulled him back into this room with the thought of Occlumency at the forefront of his mind. Despite his apprehension, he had just wrapped up one of the very best sessions he and Grace had ever had regarding the Mind Arts. They both sat back and for a few minutes, they made idle small talk. Eventually, a topic that Harry had been not-so-eagerly waiting for since arriving in the room arose, and he had to ensure that his expression and emotions stayed as modulated as possible.

“You know what happened to Charlotte, don’t you?”

“I do.” There was no point in lying about it. He doubted whether he could lie bluntly to Grace’s face and get away with it. She also did have a right to know, even if Harry planned to keep her out of the entire situation.

“Well?”

“She was ambushed by Mulciber and Jugson. There might have been somebody else involved, too. She doesn’t remember being stunned by either of them.”

“What did they do to her?” Grace’s voice was perfectly calm and her expression gave nothing away. Her eyes told the story. It wasn’t obvious, but Harry had spent many hours looking into those eyes during their sessions. He knew them well, even without the aid of his memory, and he could easily spot the minor irregularity within them. There was a minute gleam. One that was fierce, resolute, and mildly terrifying.

“They got her arm with a dagger. Apparently, it’s cursed. No magic can heal whatever scars it leaves behind.”

Grace tensed. “Where is this dagger now?”

“In my trunk where nobody can get it. Mulciber panicked when I burst into the room. I noticed Charlotte was gone for longer than she should have been and went looking. But yeah, I took the knife and the potion. Both of them are locked in my trunk and I’m one-hundred percent sure that nobody can get into it.” That was because it had the very best legal wards that money could buy and it was protected by a Parseltongue password.

“What is this potion, then?” Grace asked carefully.

“It would have made sure that Charlotte remembered the whole thing, but not who was involved.”

“I’ve… never heard of that potion.”

Okay, that was noteworthy. Harry and Charlotte were only first and second years respectfully, even if one of them was a child prodigy. But Grace was extremely skilled and borderline prodigious for her age. Being five whole years older than Harry and nearing the conclusion of her Hogwarts education, it was in equal parts worrying and surprising that not even she had heard of this concoction.

There was also the fact that if Grace had never gone looking in illegal books on potions, Harry would stab himself with the damned dagger. Meaning, there was no chance of that statement being true.

“They could be charged for that,” Grace hissed in a soft, deadly voice. 

“I said the same thing. I was… very forcefully told no.”

Grace’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Charlotte wants to do it on her own. She’s… actually very set that I should have nothing to do with it.” He placidly paused, peering pensively at Grace as he tried to ponder how best to word his next statement. “I… know you won’t love that idea. I didn’t either. The problem is… she laid out her reasons. I can’t tell them to you, but… I don’t disagree with any of them and… I can relate to a few of them.” 

When he saw Grace’s eyes narrow, he held up a hand, imploring her to let him finish. “Charlotte can take Mulciber and Jugson. There’s nothing special about either of them, as far as I can tell. Well, aside from the fact that Mulciber is a sociopath, a psychopath, or both. I’m not sure if you count that as special or just troubled. Either way, I know that Charlotte can take the two of them. It seems like this time, the only reason she failed was because another student got involved. Maybe older, maybe not; I have no idea. Thing is, after this attempt on her went to hell, I doubt those students will be queuing up to help those two against her any time soon. And if she’s on the offensive, it’s not exactly as if they’ll be able to plan for her attack.”

Grace’s face was impassive. “I don’t like it. I see no obvious flaw in what you’ve said, but I still don’t like it. There are always variables involved. Any plan that doesn’t have a contingency in place is a bad plan.”

“Who says I don’t have one?”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to be watching her very carefully from now on. If something looks like it’s going to go wrong, I’ll know.”

“How can you possibly be confident in that? Even if you could make yourself invisible, which I frankly doubt you will be able to do for some time, it wouldn’t do you any good. Until you can establish basic Occlumency defences and make sure they’re sound, Charlotte’s Legilimency will be able to sense you.”

Harry’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m not planning to go anywhere near Charlotte. I don’t have to be close to her to know what she’s doing.”

“And what, pray tell, makes you say that?”

“I have my ways.”

It was actually this whole Heir of Slytherin nonsense which had given him the idea. He’d pondered one night that if he was truly the Heir of Slytherin, he would have every snake depicted in the castle firmly on his side. Then, his brain had caught up with reality and came to the realization that such a thing might actually be possible. He’d shared some preliminary conversations long after curfew with some of the snakes in the dungeons and so far, they had all complied easily enough. 

The only flaw in this plan was that there were fewer snakes once you left the dungeons, but Harry was sure that wouldn’t be a problem. What happened in the dungeons, stayed in the dungeons. That’s where Slytherin drama tended to happen, and it was exactly where Harry was most well-positioned. 

There was also the fact that he didn’t plan to be completely uninvolved.

“Even if this works, what if it isn’t enough? What if they seek retaliation again?”

“They won’t.” Harry’s voice was perhaps more confident than Grace had ever heard it.

“How can you be so sure? It will be my sister’s plan, not yours. You’ve already made it clear you’re not going to do it for her.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t be my plan. It doesn’t mean I won’t have some sway.”

“She won’t let you help her at all,” Grace said bluntly. “She’s never going to let you force a plan on her.”

“I have no plans of forcing anything on her. I’m just going to… say a few things here and there and let her choose a plan that I’m sure is going to work.”

Grace’s face was blank again. “You think you’ll be able to manipulate my sister? She’s better trained than you and she knows both Occlumency and Legilimency.”

“She’s already said she won’t use Legilimency on me. As for the training… let’s just say that if Charlotte thinks she’s come up with a master plan, I doubt she’ll look too far into it.”

Realization dawned in Grace’s eyes. “I’m trusting you,” she said, resigned. “Just know if this doesn’t work, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Oh trust me, I know. That’s exactly why I’m going to make sure that this works.”

_**Soon after, in the Slytherin common room…** _

When Harry re-entered the Slytherin common room after his session with Grace, he could feel the palpable emotion running through the air. It wasn’t tense like the night that Grace had duelled Flint and Higgs, nor even like the night earlier this year when Flint himself had resigned as Quidditch Captain. The prominent emotion, as far as Harry could tell, was actually excitement.

It was muted and hesitant in many cases, but it was definitely present, and Harry was intensely curious as to what may have started the wave of positivity. “What have I missed?” he asked Blaise quietly as he slid into a seat beside him. He was the only other one of Harry’s friends present who wasn’t buried in homework. It was History that had the others preoccupied, and Blaise had always been very astute in that subject.

“See for yourself.” He gestured to the noticeboard hung near the entrance. From across the room, Harry eyed the notice and he felt his interest spike. Despite himself, he quickly joined the ranks of those who were practically exuding excitement. Even if, in his case, it was mixed with no small amount of anxiousness. 

Hogwarts would be hosting the first meeting of the newly reformed Duelling Club on the seventeenth of December.

As much as the prospect did make him mildly nervous, as there were few things he feared less than losing something like a duel in front of the student body, Harry couldn’t help but grin.

This time, he was perfectly happy with the sudden shift away from normality.

He looked around once again, examining his group of friends this time, looking for their reactions to it. Most of them didn’t show any. Charlotte was in this camp, but when Harry looked at her, his brow furrowed as he thought of exactly what she was probably thinking.

That wouldn’t do.

It wouldn’t be good enough.

Public humiliation via duel was too basic. It was too easy to retaliate to, but he was sure Charlotte was sat there, devising methods of embarrassing Mulciber and Jugson. There was also the issue of what happened if they just refused to duel her, or didn’t show up at all.

No, sometime between now and the seventeenth of December, Harry would have to steer Charlotte away from that course of action, assuming he was right in guessing that was where her mind had gone. Along the way, he would plant a few seeds, too. Just to be safe.

_**November 18, 1992  
An Abandoned Classroom  
7:30 PM** _

Draco stared pointedly at Ares, who had insistently dragged him off to speak in private. Ares regretted the fact that most of their major, private conversations this year had pertained to things that neither of them would exactly wish to be talking about. The two of them hadn’t spoken much in the past month. Ares had been rather stressed. It seemed as if the Hogwarts workload was getting to her. Exhaustion seemed to be a constant factor she had to contend with as of late, and that was to say nothing about everything else going on inside the castle at that same moment.

Draco had seen his fair bit of stress as well. Of course, there had been the nightmare of an incident on Samhain. Then, the ruthless preparation for Slytherin’s opening Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Ever since, Draco had been working slowly to gain back some of the dignity that he had immediately lost in the aftermath of his one-sided defeat to Potter. As of late, he looked pale, lost and exhausted. It was as if he didn’t know who he was anymore or what to do, and it was taking all of his energy to try and find those answers.

It was for all of these reasons that Ares loathed the fact that now, their first real private conversation in ages would be held in light of delicate matters once more.

“I’d love to think you actually just arranged this to talk, but I doubt it,” Draco said bluntly. Ares might have winced normally, but she felt annoyance creep up. Stressed or not, Draco shouldn’t be snapping at her like that. Least of all when she was trying to help him. Trying to prevent a repeat of Samhain. That had been painful to watch.

“You’re not the only one who wishes that, you know? It isn’t my problem that I keep having to get involved to stop you from getting into disastrous situations.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed. “What do you think I’ve done this time?”

“You haven’t done anything yet. That’s not the point. I’m not worried about what you have done. I’m worried about what you might do, and what it might cause.”

“I’m not going to go around calling people mudbloods in front of Potter if that’s what you’re worried about.” Draco spoke that proclamation through teeth gritted so tightly together that Ares thought he might have been able to bite straight through metal. 

“Thank Merlin and Morgana for that, but that’s not actually what I was going to tell you. I sort of just assumed you weren’t daft enough to make that mistake again. How you managed to screw that up after the warning he gave you in the changing rooms amazes me.”

“So happy to be of service,” Draco drawled, obviously not taking well to Ares’s sharp jabs. That wasn’t her problem. That was how she acted. Other people could take it or leave it. It wasn’t her fault that over the years and in the last few months in particular, Ares’s tongue had gotten sharper and sharper. She attributed the exponential increase in her ability to come up with quips to the fact that suddenly, her social circle was much larger than her parents, cousin, aunt and uncle. 

“Yes, I’m glad you enjoy pleasing me. It’s a great trait to have.” Seeing that her cousin likely wouldn’t take much more of this, Ares decided to cut to the chase. “I want to take back what I said about Potter earlier this year, especially with the duelling club coming up.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to do something stupid at the duelling club. Like force your way into a duel with him and fire some horrid curse before the command to start is given to try and win some of your shine back. Let me just warn you, Draco. That would be a terrible idea. You know I follow duelling, and Potter is good. As in, a prodigy for his age kind of good. I doubt you would stand a chance against him if you trained like a professional for months and he just sat around and waited.”

“You’re saying that I’m a lesser wizard than Potter?”

“I’m saying that having a rivalry with him would be a terrible idea. Especially at the duelling club. He will be expecting you to try something. I’m sure of it. Say whatever you want about him, but he is a true Slytherin from what I’ve seen. He’ll be way ahead of you if you try something like that.”

“For your information, I never had any intentions of trying to start drama with Potter at the duelling club. Father was… very firm in his warning this time around. More so than the last, even.” Ares internally cringed for Draco. She had only seen her Uncle Lucius truly angry a handful of times, but he was a rather intimidating man when he was upset. She could also see how badly that instruction conflicted with what Draco wanted to do. 

“You’re going to listen to him this time.”

Draco blinked. “Are you… giving me an order?”

“Yes, I am.”

“On what authority?”

“Challenge me, cousin, and find out.”

The two of them locked eyes and Ares could practically feel Draco’s burning frustration and anger boiling beneath the surface. It was as if the boiling pit of emotions was producing fumes which Ares herself was breathing in. The imagined feelings were so vivid. It was the only way she could explain it.

“Every time you’ve gone after Potter, it has ended in disaster. It’s over, Draco. You can’t beat him. You’ve been told for years that you were better than everybody. It was the way you were raised. Until now, nobody has had the stones to tell you the truth. So I’m here to break it to you. Potter is too skilled. Both in setups and confrontations. Attacking him again would be suicide, and I would rather my cousin be upset with me again than have him utterly ruined over some stupid, petty grudge.”

Their eyes were still locked onto each other when Ares saw his grey ones narrow. He made to say something and Ares growled, trying to shove every bit of her resoluteness and certainty as to her stance through her gaze. It was as if she was trying to convey everything through her stare alone. Draco flinched as if he had somehow received the message. In fact, he looked away, down towards the floor and when he next spoke, that was where his stare remained.

“Fine, I won’t go after Potter. I’ll… end it, no matter what he does. Are you happy now?”

Ares’s smile was genuine as she reached across the table and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, trying to convey that she had only had his best interests at heart. Had she manipulated him into getting wound up just so that she could make him snap and open her up to make her own points? Absolutely. Did that take away from the satisfaction and relief she felt? Absolutely not.

In fact, she felt quite pleased. She supposed it was a rather skillfully played game on her part. She should be proud of it, after all.

“Perfectly happy,” Ares responded without missing a beat, eyes gleaming.

_**November 22, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:36 AM** _

_Heir Potter,  
I feel as if the relationship between us, as well as that which connects our two families has gotten off to a shaky and an unfortunate start, in part as a result of my son and heir’s immature foolishness. I am sure if the two of us sat down, we could come to a sort of mutual agreement that could see a relationship blossom in the future. I, for one, am quite eager to see this relationship formed, and I think it to be in my son’s best interests if I intervene and seek to cease the dangerous rivalry between the two of you by any means necessary._

_I am writing to inquire whether or not you might be agreeable to meeting me during the first week of the Yule break? Perhaps the first day after the children arrive back home, the 22nd of December._

_If this or another date works best for you, please write back swiftly._

_Regards,  
Lucius Malfoy  
Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy_

Harry bit his lip. That was certainly interesting. Potentially very dangerous, but interesting nonetheless. He had been in the presence of Lord Malfoy twice. Three times, he supposed, if one counted the Samhain gala from his first year, but they had barely interacted that night. Both other times, he’d remarked at how well the man played the game.

Harry wasn’t sure whether the Lord of House Malfoy was stepping in as a means to form a genuine relationship, sparing his son from future, brutal retaliation, or a combination of the two. 

Either way, it was something he needed to think about, and it was not a letter that should be responded to impulsively. Luckily, he had another matter which he would be writing to his solicitor about that very night. So fortunate that the Greengrass family had been gracious enough to acquire one’s services for him. He needed her now, possibly for more than he had ever realized.

__**December 12, 1992**  
The Second Floor  
12:47 AM 

Fred and George Weasley peered back down at the Marauder’s Map, double-checking that their eyes had not been playing tricks on them. This was about the twentieth time they had checked. They’d been following the irregularity for several floors now, and both of their hearts were threatening to beat straight out of their chests.

When there was a mystery and or chaos at Hogwarts, Fred and George Weasley wanted nothing more than to be at the centre of it. Specifically this one, for the timing was quite ideal. 

They were still in hot water over their admittedly horrid prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team two and a half months ago. They had never been implicated with enough proof to actually punish them, but the teachers were still on high alert. Snape was still extra snappish in Potions, taking at least ten points from each of them every lesson. Their own Head of House, Professor McGonagall, wasn’t much better. She watched them like a hawk every chance she got, and the two of them were privately more fearful of her than Snape

In short, the teachers were doing their best to monitor their every move. It was as if they were waiting for them to slip up and do something else equally stupid. Something that they would this time be able to pin on them.

At least, they were doing this when not otherwise occupied by this Chamber of Secrets nonsense, which was one of three reasons the twins had decided to get involved.

The first was that, if the two of them managed to turn in this self-proclaimed Heir of Slytherin, it would probably get the teachers to bugger off, and they could go back to pulling pranks as normal and actually enjoying their time at Hogwarts. The second tied into the first. Unlike most in the castle, the twins actually believed themselves capable of this. They were no narcissists. They didn’t think themselves some magical titans or any such nonsense. But they had an advantage that nobody else in the castle had. Not even Albus Dumbledore, for all of his accolades and greatness.

That advantage was the Marauder’s Map. With it, they could easily and efficiently track every single person in the castle. In theory, this would give them a massive leg up in discovering who truly was behind the attack of Mrs. Norris and the disappearance of their fellow Gryffindor, Colin Creevey. That could actually be a fourth reason they had gotten involved. It was bad enough before Creevey had seemingly been kidnapped. Then, he, a Gryffindor, had been dragged in. Gryffindors needed to protect their own, so…

But the true third reason led right back into the Marauder’s Map. There was no Chamber of Secrets labelled on the map. This was no surprise to neither Fred nor George. If the Marauders had ever found it, the Chamber of Secrets would likely have been public knowledge. The twins had prided themselves on knowing more about the castle than anyone else, and that had been even before they had acquired the map which had helped them immeasurably in the past fourteen or so months. Knowing that a secret, hidden chamber full of potential could just be hiding under their noses was far too tempting.

The two of them would admit, they had been at it for weeks and made no progress. 

Until tonight.

Whilst out killing time after curfew, the two of them had pulled out the map and scanned it. In the process of doing so, they’d noticed a dot which neither of them had ever seen before. And they would know, because over the past number of weeks, they had made note of every single living person in the castle just in case something like this happened. But they didn’t recognize the new name, one that they had followed down onto the second floor.

Emily Riddle.

When they had first spotted the mysterious dot of Emily Riddle, George had reasoned that perhaps, they should go and fetch Dumbledore. Fred had disagreed. If this mysterious Emily Riddle knew things about the castle that even the Marauders hadn’t and could seemingly sneak in and out at will, what were the odds she would still be around by the time they managed to summon the Headmaster?

George had to concede that Fred’s logic was sound, so they had followed Emily Riddle for about five floors.

Which led them to an alcove on the second floor, vigorously checking the map one more time before the two of them made a move to end the supposed Heir of Slytherin’s reign of terror over Hogwarts. When they made to verify for a final time, however, they found themselves in complete and utter shock.

Emily Riddle’s name had vanished.

“Fuck!” Fred cursed, scanning the map frantically and trying to relocate her. “No, what the fuck! That’s not possible! She was right there! In that bathroom, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” George muttered, scanning the map one more time himself, “you can’t think of any way she could have known we were coming?”

“Homenum Revelio, but it still wouldn’t explain how she erased her name.”

“I was going to say that maybe she has some way of hiding from any form of detection and she enabled it when she noticed us coming?”

“Maybe, who knows? So… we wait then, for her to leave the bathroom?”

“I guess, yeah. Best to set up an ambush then, you reckon?”

“I do, yeah,” 

As one, the twins stepped out from behind the suit of armour which had concealed them only seconds before.

They didn’t make it far.

As they made to step back out into the hallway, both of their eyes caught movement off to the side, and they quickly turned to peer in the polished shield held by the suit of armour, hoping to see what was coming up behind them in a reflection.

Just like that, they saw no more, and as the two of them fell, the map which they had held only seconds earlier gently fluttered out of their grasp and fell, face down, into the alcove that they had just abandoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This is where I start kicking canon in the dick in terms of the attacks if you can’t already tell.**
> 
> **A quick note on the Peverell thing. The Potters have buried that connection for centuries for fairly obvious reasons. They are in no position to take up the Peverell’s Wizengamot seat. Just thought I’d answer that before people had a chance to ask it.**
> 
> **In other news, the Ashes of Chaos audiobook is now on Spotify as a podcast! For those who want to give it a listen as it is recorded, you can give the podcast a follow! Ii is up on YouTube as well, so a free subscription would be very much appreciated! Thank you to CCCP from my Discord server for the narration.**
> 
> **It should be on Apple Music within the week!**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 24th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **A special thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc for their contributions this week.**


	20. Dangerous Duels and Deadly Drama Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**December 12, 1992  
The Slytherin Common Room  
7:53 AM** _

Harry awoke bright and early five days before the Duelling Club’s first meeting. This was a fairly typical occurrence, and as such, he went through a fairly typical routine. Wake up, shower, take his bags, and leave the common room. Sometimes, he left for his personalized training room in the dungeons. Other times, when he was feeling more academic, he headed for the library.

This morning was one of the latter occasions. It was roughly a quarter after six when he first arrived in the library. As he debated on which topic to read up on, his eyes idly flicked towards the Restricted Section. By now, both Calypso and Emily had verified the idea that magic commonly said to be dark was not inherently indicative of evil in and of itself. Harry was pretty sure this was the truth, but he wanted one more take to be sure. He would ask Grace soon; possibly tomorrow night

He just wanted one more opinion to be one-hundred percent sure before he dove into the topic. He was an obsessive person, and that was a fact about himself that he was well aware of. If he began to dive into the Dark Arts, he wouldn’t be stopping until he had one day mastered them. If he was going to do that, he was going to be damn sure that the endeavour wasn’t going to horribly backfire on him in the long run.

If it did indeed turn out that she too spoke the same ideas as Emily and Calypso, he would begin exploring the subject. At that point, he would need to find a way into the Restricted Section. 

The pass from Voldemort in his first year hadn’t carried over to his second. That tended to happen when the professor in question turned out to be a Dark Lady in disguise. Harry really should have made more use of that pass last year. He was certainly wishing he had it now, as the full potential of its usage made itself clear. Perhaps he would have Charlotte verify whether or not there were wards on the Restricted Section. If there weren’t, he could always just sneak in at night with the help of Voldemort’s ring and Blaise’s enchanted shoes. The former would render him invisible. The latter would ensure no sound emanated from his footsteps. 

Thinking on the senses, he mentally noted to look into a spell that could possibly mask his scent. Maybe a cleaning charm would be his only option… He could easily grab some reading material that may be helpful before he left this morning. 

If there did turn out to be wards, which he suspected there were… that could be more problematic. He knew how to set some basic wards by now, but breaking them was still beyond him. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the capability of breaking them, even though that was likely true, at least for now. He just had no idea how one went about breaking wards. That could be solved though. The book Grace had let him take from the Weitts family library the previous year detailed ward-breaking, but he just hadn’t looked into it yet. Thus far, it hadn’t been something he’d needed to explore.

He spent about an hour reading in the library. By now, he had a strong enough grasp on a few of the basic runic languages to begin using them for actual Runes. He was looking for books specifically detailing Elder Futhark. He thought it would be a good place to start working with Runes, seeing as it was one of the most basic languages. He did find a few, but ended up reading mostly about Arithmancy. He didn’t have many books on that topic, and though the books he found on runes did look promising, the ones on Arithmancy captivated him more at the moment.

Before leaving, he scooped up a number of useful looking books on charms. He hoped one of them might have something to help him mask his scent. If not, he would hopefully learn something of interest from them, and he could come back and try at a later date.

Or, he could just ask Emily.

That was also an option, he supposed, though he might have to explain why he wanted to know. He doubted Emily would judge him, but it was still a difficult thing for him to do; asking for help in potentially rule breaking matters. 

Ugh! He needed to get this emotional suppression thing down. Being easily able to squash irrational hesitation was going to be extremely useful. Not to mention the fact that it alone would probably lower his general stress levels significantly.

It was around half-past seven by the time he’d wrapped up in the library. He thought that this morning, he would actually have time to meet his friends in the common room instead of just dropping into a spot near them at the Slytherin table, which was his usual practice. Along with just not going to breakfast at all. That was also a frequent occurrence, nowadays. He often became so engrossed in whatever he was doing, that the thought of breakfast didn’t even occur to him. As he’d noted, he was an obsessive person.

It took Harry some time to reach the Slytherin common room. When he did, he noticed that at least one of his friends was awake and ready.

“What’s the occasion?” Blaise asked, acting completely astounded. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw you in the common room at this time.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I wrapped up early this morning. Thought I might grace you with my presence.” 

Blaise laughed. “You honour me, my lord.”

“Have you figured out what you’re doing over the Yule break?” Blaise had been saying for some time that he was unsure of his Yuletide plans. Last year, he, like most in Slytherin House, had opted to return home for Yule. This year, apparently his mother would be travelling with a new romantic interest. Number Seven, as Blaise referred to him. Blaise was either unsure whether he would be invited along, or unsure as to whether he was interested in joining them. He had yet to specify which of these was true, and Harry hadn’t asked.

“I’ll be staying at Hogwarts. I’m assuming I can expect you to grace me with your presence all break long?”

“For the most part. My father did offer for me to spend the break at Potter Manor. Apparently, Charlus had already told him he’d be staying at Hogwarts. I personally wasn’t interested in the offer.”

Blaise’s eyes danced with amusement. “Shocking.”

“Truly,” Harry responded with an upward curve of his lips. “I’ll be out for at least one day and one night, but you’re stuck with me the rest of it.”

Blaise looked surprised. “You’re leaving the castle? I wasn’t aware we could even do that outside of major events, and such. Not until third year when the village opened up to us, anyway.”

“It’s a privilege of heirs to Wizengamot houses.” He hadn’t been sure of that fact for quite some time. It had been what his father had said in his first-ever letter to Harry. For quite some time, Harry had wondered whether the fact had been true, or whether James was just bending the rules via his publicized, personal relationship with Dumbledore. But when inquiring about the fact with his solicitor through letters, she had also confirmed it to be true.

Blaise frowned. “I suppose me not being a British heir probably has something to do with it, but I’m surprised that it's never come up before. I would have thought Daphne would have called on that privilege by now.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not exactly something that needs to be used very often. And I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it. They don’t exactly advertise it. I only know because it’s how I got out to meet my father last year.”

Blaise nodded. “So that’s the daytime excursion?”

“It is.”

“And the night…”

“The gala at Greengrass Manor on New Year’s Eve.”

“Ah, right. I might actually get invited to that, apparently. I usually don’t, since the Zabinis never had much to do with England until mother decided to send me to Hogwarts. I was talking about it last night with Daphne though, and she seemed to think she was going to ask her parents to invite me and that I would get an invitation.”

“Do you even want to come?”

“Beats sitting around and killing time.” Blaise smirked. “And with you around, I doubt it will be a typically dull social event.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Blaise waved a hand. “Come on, Harry. Surely you’ve figured this out by now. Some people in the world just can’t catch a break. No matter what they do, trouble follows them.” He grinned. “You, my friend, are most certainly one of those people.”

“And honoured, I assure you,” Harry answered dryly, causing Blaise to chuckle just as Tracey and Daphne made their way into the common room. Like Blaise, the two girls were quite surprised to see Harry there at all. After greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged and the group had decided against waiting for their younger friends, they made for the exit, intent on getting an early start on breakfast.

They never made it.

Apparently, the world was out to prove the point that Blaise had made not moments earlier.

Before they could reach the exit, the wall slid aside, revealing Pansy Parkinson, who appeared mildly short for breath. Her brown eyes scanned the common room at top speed, and Harry almost sighed out loud when they fixed upon him, and she began her approach with purpose.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

He could feel mild panic radiating from Pansy, thanks to what he now suspected to be a mild affinity towards Natural Legilimency. He didn’t have much time to ponder that. Within mere seconds, Pansy was upon them, and she quickly focused her entire attention on Harry and began to speak.

“You might not want to go to breakfast.”

Whatever he had been expecting, that hadn’t been it. “Do I even want to know?” Harry looked anywhere but at Blaise as he asked his question. If he knew his friend as well as he thought he did, Blaise would have a terribly smug smirk on his face right about now.

“Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway,” Pansy declared with finality. 

“Naturally. Well, get it over with then.”

“So, you know how the whole school thinks you’re the Heir of Slytherin?” Harry nodded. “Well, now they’re really going to think that you’re the Heir of Slytherin. And… I don’t know if it would be pleasant for you to be in public right now.”

“What’s happened?” Harry asked sharply, his focus suddenly becoming much more intense as his mind put together the general idea of what had evidently transpired.

There had been another attack, or perhaps a disappearance.

If Pansy’s words were true, it would somehow make people even more certain that Harry was the one behind it.

“Two students have disappeared,” she started, not seeming to be sure whether or not she should sound upbeat or worried. 

“Two students?” Tracey asked, wide-eyed and incredulous.

Pansy nodded, looking significantly in Harry’s direction before peeling the metaphorical bandage. “Yes, two students. The Weasley twins.”

Oh… fuck!

Yup, that would do it alright. 

The twins had never been proven guilty of the heinous prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team from two and a half months ago. That had hardly mattered. Naturally, the entire school was reasonably sure who had been behind it, even if the bastards were too clever to leave obvious evidence behind. Personally, Harry thought the two of them disappearing was rather poetic. Karma really was a special sort of bitch. He didn’t wish death upon the twins, per se, even if he would hardly mourn the twats. More accurately, he wished for them to suffer quite a lot of pain, and maybe several nights in a hospital bed.

So in some ways, he thought they deserved whatever was happening right about now, so long as it didn’t result in the end of their lives.

On the other hand… Harry could see how this would further the school’s suspicion of him. He also could not help but think of how convenient this whole thing was. The entire school suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin. Then, two people who everyone naturally, and accurately, assumed were on his shit list vanished in the middle of the night.

Oh, and they were Gryffindors, so even those that didn’t think he was responsible would be even more sure that the culprit came from Slytherin House. Of course, most would naturally think this anyway, based on the mysterious assailent’s chosen title. Whether that fact was true or not, it certainly wasn’t a good look for Slytherin.

And here Harry thought he had been making progress in making a dent in that reputation. What with him being the Potter Heir and a noted child prodigy.

Maybe that would be a goal of his going forward. As soon as he made it through this mess without getting killed in cold blood by some furious lion, or falsely expelled for a crime he didn’t commit.

Why was it so hard to just stay out of everything?

“Harry?” Daphne’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and back to the present. All four of his closest friends were staring at him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. What did you ask?”

“I asked what you were going to do about this. The Gryffindors are going to be livid! I wouldn’t be surprised if you were mobbed in the corridors.”

Yes, that would be a problem. Even if he wasn’t, he didn’t fancy dodging curses all day. So far, it had been mild jinxes, for the most part, but he suspected this would escalate things. He had no idea what unsavoury curses the lions might know, but he wasn’t intent on finding out. 

There was also Gilderoy Lockhart to contend with.

The man had been on his case already, and this certainly wasn’t about to help matters. He was far more worried about Lockhart than any Gryffindor, and he still had no idea whether the man knew Legilimency. 

Worse still, he wasn’t confident enough in his abilities to keep Lockhart out of his mind if he did. If Lockhart did know Legilimency and was ever going to try to use it on Harry, today would be the day. He wouldn’t find anything on the Chamber of Secrets, but he may well find something else. Even something as simple as which books Harry kept could prove to be problematic.

Beyond all of the pragmatic reasons for avoiding confrontations, Harry really just couldn’t be bothered at the moment. Years with the Dursleys had conditioned him to accept being ostracized, even hated. He wasn’t exactly going to curl up and cry because nobody liked him, largely thanks to the Dursleys. At the same time, and even more so after experiencing true friendship, being universally hated was exhausting. Not to mention it surfaced many memories he would rather forget.

No, Harry really couldn’t be bothered to deal with the school.

“You guys go on ahead,” he said with a sigh. “I have things I need to take care of, anyway. I… might be a bit hard to find for a while.” Blaise, Daphne and Tracey all seemed to understand what he meant.

He was retreating to the Speaker’s Den, where he was quite confident none would be able to find him.

_**That night, in an abandoned classroom...** _

Charlus was furious. Charlus had been furious all day. Worse still, he had been forced to ruthlessly contain his fury for the better part of the day. By the time he’d returned to the common room after breakfast, the morbid news was already spreading throughout the school.

The Weasley twins had vanished.

The rest of the day had been one of the worst Charlus could remember. Ron had gone up to the dorms and not returned and Charlus could hardly blame him. He sat with Hermione and valiantly tried to not utterly lose his shit. There had been numerous moments throughout the day in which Charlus started to shake with pent up emotion. 

After dinner, he had taken the opportunity to slip away from his muggleborn friend and enter the abandoned classroom in which he had set up the dummies sent to him by Mr. Bellona all those months ago. With the dummies had come several ward stones and some very specific instructions on how to set up some very specific wards. 

With all of that, Charlus had himself a personal training facility.

But right now, it was more of a therapeutic canvas on which he could paint out all of his emotions and fury.

Today, Charlus hadn’t needed to conjure up any feeling of hatred or anger to cast some of the darker curses he’d been taught. Hatred and fury came to him very easily. 

Yet the focus had not changed.

His utter bastard of a brother!

Charlus hadn’t wanted to believe that Harry could possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. There was nothing more painful than the possibility that Harry could be behind the horrible things happening this year at Hogwarts. Yet this set of disappearances had confirmed it. This time, it had been personal. 

He had no idea what the cat had done to Harry, but he suspected it had been a display, of sorts. That’s what Hermione had said, at least. It was how she had explained why Mrs. Norris had been petrified and the other victims had simply vanished. The first attack was a warning. The rest were to further whatever twisted goal the Heir of Slytherin had in mind.

And Charlus couldn’t stand it any longer.

As the pure, unadulterated hatred and fury built up inside him, he thrust his wand towards the dummies once more, letting out an animalistic cry of rage as he let his magic flow free and obliterate the target.

The duelling club was drawing near. He would show Harry there, in front of the entire school, the repercussions for his actions.

He swore it to himself.

_**An hour later, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

Harry had spent most of the day locked up in the Speaker’s Den. He had been very careful to ensure that Grace was nowhere in his vicinity as he had approached. He had been equally cautious to make sure his ring was actively concealing him. As he entered, he also reset the password. Now, instead of a simple yet personal phrase, it was protected by a Parseltongue password. This way, there was no threat of intruders, even if Grace managed to somehow work out the wards surrounding the place.

If she ever just came out and bluntly asked him about it, he wasn’t sure how he might respond. He trusted Grace, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was anybody being able to intrude on him at any time. This was his sanctuary, and that would no longer be true by definition if someone else could gain unfettered access to the hidden room.

After entering, Harry had allowed a rather content looking smile as his eyes roamed hungrily over the place. He had, for the most part, avoided this room since his return to Hogwarts more than three months ago. As soon as Grace had given him an indication that she might know more than he was comfortable with, Harry lost any and all interest in taking chances. Because of this, the room looked more appealing now than ever before. He even managed to forget the stress of his situation, and the danger he was now in as a result of another’s actions, if only for a moment.

There was a part of him, a larger one than he would care to admit, that wanted to investigate. He assumed this was his Gryffindor streak. Given his family history, it was inevitable he would have one in some capacity. This part of him was screaming that the Heir of Slytherin had now blatantly framed him. It was screaming about how this was as good a reason as any to take retribution.

Thankfully, the part of him that had ensured he was sorted into Slytherin House was larger, and just as persistent. It ruthlessly crushed these bold claims with cold, hard logic. 

He’d intervened last year, and that had landed him back at the Dursleys. It might have been temporary, but he was still on the outs with his family.

Oh, and the whole issue that he almost died as a result of said intervention. Well, he supposed if she was to be believed, Voldemort had never had any intention of killing him. Whether that was true or not, he had absolutely no idea.

Thinking of that conversation, he remembered the prophecy that Voldemort had mentioned. The same prophecy that, days later, Dumbledore had avoided talking about as if it were a taboo. This wasn’t the first time the thought of the mysterious prophecy had crossed his mind. He would be lying if he didn’t admit to being curious. Voldemort seemed to believe it was fulfilled. Apparently, it spoke of a child with the power to vanquish her. 

On that front, she had a point. She had indeed been vanquished. Her logic was sound. But the fact that Dumbledore had refused to even mention the prophecy when Harry had led him straight to it in their conversation was… troubling. Even if it only pertained directly to Charlus, there was a good chance that Harry would end up as collateral damage one way or the other.

As Blaise put it, he really couldn’t catch a break.

He had pondered on the prophecy for some time, but when his mind had finally returned onto the issue of how it had gotten there, he sighed. Avoiding all this drama was really his best course of action. It was possible the heir had framed him, but Harry could hardly blame them. He doubted it was personal. He wasn’t really important enough in the grand scheme of things for it to be. He was just the most natural candidate to take the fall. He didn’t like it, but it was hardly a good enough reason for him to risk his life in retribution.

These thoughts had grown rather depressing. Thinking in circles tended to be. He decided to take the opportunity to both distract his mind and to be productive. Standing to his feet, Harry made his way towards the bookshelves lining the main room of the Den. 

It was tradition for anybody who found the Speaker’s Den to leave a book behind before they graduated Hogwarts. That was what Harry had managed to put together, at least. There were a great number of tomes on a wide variety of topics . Last year, he hadn’t really dipped his feet into these shark-infested waters. Partially because most of the material was beyond him, and also because he had been focused heavily on his studies.

While the latter was still true, he thought that if there was any time to give himself a break, it was now. He was still going to look for something academic and practical. But he thought a break from things like schoolwork and working ahead in schoolwork, as well as from his studies in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy could be good for him.

For a long time, Harry was lost in manifestos of old. They were written in old English, hence the distinction. Some of them appeared to be from time periods close to the one that William Shakespeare had lived in. At least, the language used was very similar. Some were older. Some were very difficult for Harry to comprehend, but he mostly managed.

There were certain phrases in these manifestoes that stood out to him vividly. Some he had read before. The first, for example, was one he had read here last year in a different tome and taken to heart. Obviously, it wasn’t a unique phrase, but he thought it very true nonetheless.

_Proper preparation prevents poor performance._

The second certainly wasn’t one he’d read whilst in here. It was a phrase he had read in the first book he’d taken from the Restricted Section. The book that Lady Voldemort herself had urged him to take out.

_There is no such thing as light and dark, or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded._

One made him pause, for it was rather reflective of his current struggles to master the emotional control granted by the first Occlumency subskill he had ever attempted to learn.

_Emotion is the bane of cunning. It is the silent destroyer of ambition, for it does not strike loudly and harshly as the emotion may appear, but stealthily and from the shadows. It is a long, drawn-out death, one that the victim may never see coming._

It was perhaps a bit morbid, but it was a terrifying reality check nonetheless. 

He had to master that subskill.

With that in mind, Harry spent an age combing the shelves for anything useful. It wasn’t exactly easy to search out specific topics. Especially not when many of the books were represented by blank, discreet covers. Many others were simply notebooks and not proper books at all.

Harry picked up one of the newer entries, or so it seemed. It was still pristine. A bit dusty, but in perfect condition otherwise. He had avoided newer material for the most part thus far. Occlumency just seemed like an ancient art. But desperate times called for desperate measures. It wasn’t that Emily couldn’t help him. She was helping him a great deal, but he would take every advantage he could get. 

This was his philosophy as he opened the book and looked down…

And froze.

The pristinely perfect handwriting was all too familiar. It was the same handwriting he saw every time a message was sent to him in the enchanted journal.

It was Emily Riddle’s handwriting; he was sure of it.

What was just as shocking was the book’s contents. 

To call it a book wasn’t really accurate. It was a journal; a notebook. One which seemed to be dedicated to the Mind Arts. Skimming through the book itself, he noticed that there was more written about Occlumency than there was Legilimency. But there was certainly plenty about the latter as well.

Now, this… this could be a game-changer. 

It was one thing to write Emily and ask her questions. It was another thing altogether to actually see not only her methods, but her in-depth philosophies and thought processes in regards to Occlumency written out in vivid detail right in front of him.

Yes, this was going to be a game-changer indeed.

Hardly believing his luck, but supposing the world had decided he needed a break at long last, Harry picked up the book and began to read.

Though it would later baffle him how such a thing was possible, by the time the duelling club met five days later, he would already have the subskill that had given him such problems for the better part of a month and a half somewhat mastered.

_**December 16, 1992  
The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom  
2:29 PM** _

Charlotte had never been asked to stay behind after class by a professor before. Which was why, on Thursday- the day before the Duelling Club was set to meet- she found herself rather perplexed when Professor Lockhart asked her to stay behind.

“Did I do something wrong, Professor?” 

The man waved a hand dismissively in a fairly casual motion, but Charlotte had the distinct impression the man was oddly nervous. “No, no, of course not. Your work was exemplary as always, Miss Weitts.”

Charlotte smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

Lockhart waved his hand again. “Your work isn’t even bordering on an issue, Miss Weitts. I actually had a… favour to ask you.”

Charlotte suddenly felt her guard raise. “A favour, sir?”

“Nothing of great importance or risk, I assure you.” He was definitely nervous. He’d answered that almost… hastily. “I was wondering if you could pass along a message for me.”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “That depends on the message, sir. And who you’d like me to pass it along to.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” It appeared to Charlotte as if Lockhart was willing himself to speak his next words with a great deal of effort. “I heard through the grapevine that your Grandfather is going to be in England over the holidays.”

Charlotte had to resist the urge to take in a breath or widen her eyes. “He is,” she answered neutrally.

“Then I would like you to pass on a message, Miss Weitts. I would have liked to tell him myself, but I’ve heard that Giaus Weitts doesn’t exactly take audiences these days. It… would mean a lot to me if you could pass this along.”

“What’s the message, Professor?”

“Tell him… tell him thank you from me, will you? Thank him on my behalf for what he has done for my family. And, in particular, thank him for the last conversation we had. That conversation doubtlessly saved my life. I doubt I would be standing here today if I hadn’t spoken to him all those years ago. He’s a great man, your Grandfather. Tell him that for me, would you? And do pay him my respect.”

Charlotte nodded, a pensive expression firmly in place. “I’ll tell him for you, sir.”

_**December 17, 1992  
The Slytherin Common Room  
6:40 PM** _

At long last, the night had come that many in the ancient castle had been awaiting for the past month.

Tonight, the newly reformed Hogwarts Duelling Club would meet for the first time.

Harry wasn’t quite as excited as he had been the first night it had been revealed. Calypso had put it best. They duelled every week, this really wasn’t anything special. What he was excited for was to see how he compared to other students. In particular, those who were his senior, but perhaps not necessarily avid duellists. While his friends all seemed to be in varying states of eagerness,none of them were truly duellists. Granted, Charlotte had wanted to learn combat magic. She still did, but the two of them had decided it would be best to start that project soon after the fast-approaching holidays.

Out of Harry’s gathered friends, she was by far the one who looked most eager. Sinister, as well. Something Harry didn’t like seeing at the moment. It meant, in his estimation, that she was going to lead with the exact plan which would lead to disaster. A disaster that he would have to subvert before it happened.

As the group of them made to leave the common room, he placed a hand on Charlotte’s arm, stalling her exit. This surprised her greatly, which Harry really should have seen coming. It wasn’t exactly kept a secret how much he detested most forms of physical contact.

But ever since he’d learned emotional manipulation and control in the last few days, he’d found that his distaste could be suppressed. When he’d first written Emily to explain that he had learned the subskill, she had been equal parts baffled, impressed, and amazed.

_**The night previous, in the Slytherin dorms…** _

Harry eagerly opened the journal and put his quill to the parchment. He had finally done it, and the accomplishment came with more pride than any before it which he could remember.

_Emily,  
I’ve mastered emotional suppression and manipulation!_

_Well, maybe not mastered, but I can do it! I’m not sure if I would be able to pull it off in a high-pressure situation yet, but I’m sure that will come with practice and mental memory, like a lot of other things seem to._

The pause before the inevitable response was actually shorter than what Harry was accustomed to.

_Have you now? That is… intriguing. The last time we talked, you did not seem to be any closer to that objective, and that discussion was fairly recent. May I ask what led to this… breakthrough before I discuss some necessary things for you to be aware of?_

Harry bit his lower lip. Could he tell her? He had no idea how she would react to the news that he had found the writings of her teenage self. More important, how she would react to him finding the Speaker’s Den. It would likely give away that he was a Parselmouth, too. He wasn’t sure if the Den could even be found by those who didn’t speak the magical language. Possibly, but certainly not by a second year, no matter how far ahead in their coursework they might be. She would know immediately that he, like her, spoke the language of Slytherin.

That could be… problematic.

He trusted her, but not that much. He hadn’t even told Blaise, Daphne or Tracey about that ability yet. He couldn’t say he had any plans to do so soon, either. Perhaps if it was somehow necessary to solve a problem in the future, he would consider it. Aside from that, he was perfectly content with keeping an ability private that would more than likely lead to him being ostracized more than he already was.

Especially in the current climate, with a supposed Heir of Slytherin running roughshod through the corridors.

If said culprit really was the Heir of Slytherin, that would be one way for Harry to draw their attention. Even if their frame job hadn’t been personal, he imagined that, if he revealed himself as a Parselmouth, he would rise straight to the top of their interest list. It wouldn’t matter what colour his robes were, or how pure his blood was.

No, best not to tell his friends. By extension, he didn’t think telling Emily would be wise either. Unfortunately, he knew that whatever he was about to write would be a weak explanation. It probably wouldn’t be sufficient enough to fool her. Hopefully, she would just be polite enough not to ask further.

_I’m not actually sure. I just sat down after class for the last few nights and pretty much spent all night working on it. I skived off most of my other obligations and eventually, it just clicked._

Even to him, it sounded weak. If that was the case, why had it taken him so long to do that? What changed so suddenly that allowed this to become possible? These were just some of the questions Emily could potentially ask him. Questions that he realistically had no answers for. To put it lightly, there were a myriad of issues surrounding his cover story. He hoped it would be sufficient. As long as she chose not to press him on it, the moment should pass. Emily seemed curious in general, but prying wasn’t her forte, from what Harry had observed.

Thankfully, Emily allowed the moment to pass.

_A bit unusual it would suddenly click so swiftly, but I am happy for you nonetheless. Now, I need to warn you about some of the risks associated with these abilities. The suppression of emotion in particular._

Harry frowned, but swiftly wrote back to signify he was paying close attention.

_Emotional suppression is a wonderfully powerful thing. Unfortunately, like most other things of a similar nature, it has its fair share of dangers. By example, one can permanently suppress any given emotion. For example, you could suppress your empathy for the rest of your life. I take it I don’t need to explain all of the potential problems that could cause? Not just in terms of empathy, but with emotions in general?_

Yes, he could see why that could be problematic.

_The most dangerous thing about this is that it isn’t always a conscious decision. Sometimes, in situations of great stress, an Occlumens, new Occlumens in particular, ends up doing so subconsciously. So, what I am telling you is that, in order to avoid that mishap, make sure to internalize very deeply after any experience that is particularly traumatic. If you find out that you have unintentionally suppressed an emotion permanently, or you think you have, write to me immediately._

Harry never failed to be amazed at just how powerful Occlumency truly was.

_The other issue is less dramatic, but still of note._

_When suppressing particularly strong emotions, again, usually after moments of intense stress or trauma, if they are suppressed for too long- days on end, for example- the emotions tend to build. This doesn’t happen on most occasions. The suppressed emotion has to be particularly strong for this to occur, but when it does build, you will eventually have to cease suppressing it and the outpouring is… unpleasant. It is the raw emotion magnified several times, and it often causes breakdowns in those who suffer it._

Harry winced. That was definitely something to note. It was exactly the kind of thing he could wind up doing.

_**Back in the present…** _

But there was no risk to suppressing things as minor as this. It was still something he had to consciously do, but it was nice to not reflexively tense every time somebody came too close to him, even if he still wasn’t fond of contact as a whole. That was something he really wouldn’t mind suppressing permanently, but he had no idea what kind of adverse effects it would have. It wasn’t something he’d considered for more than a few, fleeting seconds.

Once Charlotte got over her surprise, she raised a brow. Harry projected what he wanted outwards and dropped his hand from her arm as she nodded curtly.

Minutes later, the two of them were locked in an abandoned classroom as most of the school surged towards the Great Hall, the room in which the night’s affairs were set to take place.

“What is it?” Charlotte asked him, obviously in a hurry to join the rest of the school.

“I know what you’re planning,” Harry told her bluntly.

She just looked annoyed. “I’m sure you probably do. I don’t see what it has to do with anything though.”

“It will fail.”

Charlotte blinked. “What?”

“If you attack Mulciber and Jugson openly, you’re going to make even more enemies linked to the Conservatives. They will retaliate because unlike Malfoy, I don’t think public humiliation is going to be a strong motivator for either one of them. And when they do, they’re going to have more support than ever if you do this so publicly.”

Harry could practically see the gears turning inside Charlotte’s head. Eventually, she scowled. “I really hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Don’t fight with emotion, Charlotte. Emotion is the bane of cunning and the silent destroyer of ambition.” 

Charlotte scowled. “How would you do it then?”

“It’s your fight.” If he suggested a plan of action, she would never take it. It would feel to her as if he had helped too directly. Her pride would never allow it. “But generally, revenge isn’t something that should be broad. What works against one person might not work against another. It’s like I said, public humiliation was something that I knew would work against Malfoy. It’s something I doubt will work against the two you’re after, Mulciber in particular. 

“Revenge is pointless if the person you act against can come back for their own. If you really want to make them pay for it, you’ll have to figure out something that will work specifically for them. Something that would change their outlook entirely. Something that, once you did it, would ensure that they never tried to take revenge on you again.”

Harry saw her eyes light up, and he knew he had succeeded in getting his point across. Also that he had managed to plant the seed while simultaneously leading Charlotte to believe it was her idea.

All in all, a success.

“And now that I know you’re not going to do anything stupid, let’s get to the Great Hall.”

_**Minutes later, in the Great Hall…** _

The uproarious chatter that permeated the air in the Great Hall was such that as Harry entered the vast room with Charlotte at his side, he was forcefully reminded of the atmosphere from the sorting ceremony. That was naturally a rather tense event, and it was, on paper, the most important event held at Hogwarts each and every year. All of that made it more than a little bit impressive to say that the atmosphere currently in the room was equally as tense and excited as anyone could ever remember.

When Harry and Charlotte took their spots among their group of friends, Daphne directed a curious glance in the pair’s direction. Harry shrugged, hopefully indicating it wasn’t important. Daphne’s eyes narrowed. Harry supposed that by now, she probably realized he didn’t do things in halves or for no reason. Almost anything that happened around him was of significant magnitude, whether he wanted it to be or not.

He also couldn’t help but notice that his friends closed ranks around him once he joined them. Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows were with them as well. They served as a sort of perimeter around the younger students.

Pansy had been right to assume that the disappearance of the Weasley twins would turn the school more firmly against him. He made no public appearances until Monday. Grace’s friend, Rhea, who had seen him in the common room was helpful enough to inform him of the location of the kitchens and how to enter them. That allowed him to avoid public meal times, and for the rest of the weekend, he had been locked up, studying Emily’s notes in the Speaker’s Den.

When he had been forced to return to the public eye on Monday, it had been a less than pleasant experience.

Before, he’d been hit in the back several times a day by minor jinxes and the like. More recently, he had been cursed quite vitally in the back several times, attacked more than that, and even challenged to several duels. After the first two days, Bletchley and Calypso had put their feet down and ever since, Harry had been escorted everywhere by either a member of the Quidditch team, the Carrows, or Calypso herself. Harry had cringed for the two poor idiots from Gryffindor who had tried cursing him when Calypso had been his escort. They hadn’t left the hospital wing for more than a day.

It was her presence, Harry assumed, that discouraged many of his hateful onlookers from cursing him right in the middle of the hall. Harry was unperturbed. Well, that wasn’t true. He was naturally wary of the situation, but he controlled that emotion with Occlumency. Not suppressed it, just muted it, lessened it. He managed to portray the perfect visage of calm as he surveyed the slightly redecorated Great Hall.

All of the long tables had been pushed along the far wall and in their place, the hall’s centre was now dominated by a rather ostentatious looking golden stage. Only adding to the over-the-top nature of the entire setup was the absurd number of floating candles which lit the area. There had to be thousands of them! The stage might as well have sat in a pool of sunlight for how bright it was.

Peeling his eyes away from the spectacle, Harry turned towards his second-year friends. “Any idea who’s running this?”

“Flitwick, maybe?” Daphne proposed. “He was a European Champion in duelling.” 

“Definitely not Flitwick then,” Blaise disagreed. “That would make far too much sense.”

Harry’s lips twitched upwards, but he resisted the impulse to laugh. That was another thing that had become far easier with this subskill of Occlumency. Controlling his facial features was now completely trivial, with the exception of major shocks and the like.

“I heard,” Pansy started, lowering her voice to a whisper, “that it would be-“ 

Before she could finish, the answer became obvious. 

Gilderoy Lockhart was strolling onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum. The absurd amount of light cast down upon him by the luminous candles seemed to reflect blindingly off of his teeth, creating a blur, somewhat marring the otherwise perfect image. In stark juxtaposition to Lockhart, Snape strode up wearing his usual black. Lockhart smiled brightly at all of the students as he waved merrily. Snape, in contrast, just looked bored.

“Can you all see me?” Lockhart asked needlessly. Harry could have snorted aloud. If anyone couldn’t see him, they seriously needed an urgent check-up with Madam Pomfrey. When Lockhart had been assured they could all see and hear him, without the need of a Sonorus or other such amplification, he faced the hall, basking in the many stares fixed upon him.

Harry wondered whether his act at the beginning of the year hadn’t been more. He had no delusions that Lockhart had lied. He was certain the man had told the truth in the fact that the act had been a test, a diversion. Yet still, the way he seemed to revel in the attention made Harry wonder if that persona he had adopted might have been built on very real components of the man’s true character. Perhaps components he otherwise had to keep muted.

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.” He winked and flashed all of them a charismatic smile. This was typical of him. Even in their classes, for however competent he might be, he certainly did have a flair for the dramatics. Sometimes, Harry wondered exactly which parts of Lockhart were real and which were fake.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape.” Snape gave a curt nod, but no more than that. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself, and has agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin.” 

At this, Harry’s eyes narrowed. Whatever anybody wanted to say about either Snape or Lockhart, nobody could downplay either man’s ability. Both of them were extremely skilled wizards, and presumably very proficient in duelling. Harry was quite interested to see how this would play out. 

His hopes weren’t unrealistically high. More than likely, they would show a quick, choreographed demonstration and be done with it. But what he wouldn’t give to see those two go all out in a duel. He would be extremely curious to see how that duel would unfold. He also thought he would be mildly hopeful that Snape might finish Lockhart off. He’d caught the man following him several times this week- thanks to his ring- and he was getting more than a little bit tired of the man’s unwarranted, borderline obsessive suspicion.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably.

Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them, and Lockhart gave all of them a borderline Binns-esquel lecture on duelling etiquette. In fairness, Harry had not been aware of any of it. While he had been looking into more practical forms of combat, until now, he hadn’t even really known the rules of duelling. Really, he still didn’t. According to Lockhart, the rules varied based on factors like location, age, and level of competition.

Finally, Lockhart triggered some sort of magic which caused the duelling wards around the stage to start a silent countdown. Seconds later, a resounding, ancient-sounding gong rang out through the hall. Harry felt as if he had gone back in time and was about to witness not a duel between wizards in Britain, but a battle between gladiators in the famed Roman Colosseum.

“Expelliarmus!”

The bright bolt of crimson magic rocketed from Snape’s wand at a ludicrous speed. Harry would bet his heirship that Snape had cast using Supplementary Occlumency.

Despite the speed he was facing, Lockhart appeared unfazed. In fact, Harry’s eyes widened at his next move. He didn’t try to dodge the spell at all. He leapt towards it, deflecting it at the last second. That was insanity! Lockhart had been in mid-air, in mid-lunge, and had still managed enough precision to deflect Snape’s own spell back at him.

That was skill.

Not only did he deflect Snape’s spell, but he sent a volley of four spells of his own towards Snape, all in quick succession and all before his feet hit the ground. Snape shielded, allowing the protection to absorb all spells without issue.

“Bombarda!”

Lockhart was charging towards Snape at a sprint as he cast. Harry recognized the strategy. Voldemort had gone over it with him last year. It was standard procedure when you were facing an opponent who you knew to be more powerful than yourself. If you closed the distance and made it a chaotic, short-range battle where both parties were forced to trade spells in quick succession, the more powerful party would lose any opportunity to make the duel more complex.

Lockhart was obviously trying to do that now. He clearly anticipated Snape to dodge right, his left, for he actually leapt to that side, intent on intercepting him. To his dismay, Snape didn’t follow his script. 

With a quick twist, he conjured a brick wall in place of his shield to absorb Lockhart’s Blasting Curse. It was blown to pieces and large bricks did fly towards Snape, but none of them touched him. Harry recognized how; the Vestamenterum shield, the same blunt force shield Lockhart had taught them at the beginning of the year.

How ironic that Snape had turned it against him.

With a flourish, Snape banished the debris towards Lockhart, who looked surprised for about a second before he waved his own wand dramatically. Suddenly, the debris was no more. In its place was a furious flock of ravens, which streaked towards Snape with murderous intent. 

“Ignam Sagita!”

Flaming arrows appeared from nowhere, shooting straight outwards from where Snape stood, efficiently slicing straight through Lockhart’s conjured birds and soaring towards the man himself. They were coming from both sides. Lockhart wouldn’t be able to dodge in time.

“Aguamenti Proteger!”

A dome of water rose around him, seeming to surge with the power of an ocean as the arrows neared it. Despite their numbers, all of them were harmlessly absorbed by the shield, though it did dispel a fair amount of steam into the air. 

Contrary to looking annoyed, Snape looked victorious. With a wave of his wand, the water solidified and hardened until Lockhart was encased in a dome of rock.

Or, so they all thought.

There was a shimmer behind Snape, and Harry’s eyes sharpened. Lockhart must have stepped out of his water-based shield before it could be transfigured and made himself invisible without the need of magical artifacts. Harry was sure Snape would fall, but the man tensed seconds before Lockhart released his next volley of spells. He reacted just in time, in fact.

“Protego Orbis!”

Harry assumed it was only through Legilimency of some kind that Snape knew Lockhart was behind him. He still thought for a moment that he would fall, for Harry hadn’t known that conjuring shields to completely encompass you from all sides was possible. That was something he would have to look into.

As it was, Snape’s hastily conjured dome of magical protection kept him unharmed and with a brief, mutual glance, the two professors decided to call their duel a draw. It had been more than adequate in terms of a demonstration, and Harry suspected that it had escalated further than either of them had planned for.

Their display had been indicative of the tone Lockhart wanted to set, and he’d succeeded.

Most everyone in the crowd was awed.

“Well,” Lockhart said with gusto, “that was suitably exhilarating!” Snape sneered. “My apologies, folks. That got a bit more out of hand than I’m sure either myself or Professor Snape expected. Nevertheless, I hope it was informative.” 

Many of the students nodded, and Harry mentally added his agreement. It had been very informative.

“Dramatic as that may have been, we started well. An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape. We shall start with the Disarming Charm, shall we?” 

For the next ten or so minutes, the whole hall went through the motions of learning the Disarming Charm. Once that had concluded, Lockhart showed all of them the basic Aegis Vocar shield. After he was satisfied with their progress, he decided to pair all of them off. As Harry eyed all of his friends, he knew all too well they wouldn’t be sticking to disarming and shielding. 

They would be sparring, no doubt about it. 

The same could be said for most of the hall, he imagined. The older students ,in particular, looked suitably bored now that the fireworks had long since concluded. Lockhart must have noticed this. Before all hell could inevitably break loose, he assured them that the next exercise would be organized sparring, so long as they could get through this one with no mishaps.

And so, they did.

Fifteen minutes later, Lockhart summoned all of them to stand in a large group before the stage. “As I promised,” he said proudly, “we’ll move onto sparring, next.” He smiled broadly. “But I couldn’t just let you duel your friend, could I?” An uneasy tension suddenly filled the room. “The point is to defend yourself. Particularly in light of our recent and… troubling circumstances. Now, in pairs!” 

Lockhart and Snape began pairing all of them up. They would duel their partners at least once and then switch opponents. Harry was paired with a third-year Slytherin girl who had brown hair and hazel eyes. Her name was apparently Isabelle Caneiro. She was, according to Snape, one of the better Charms students in her year.

In other words, this was going to be interesting.

“When the gong sounds,” Lockhart said loudly once everybody had taken the appropriate stances opposite their designated partners, “the duels shall all commence!” Ringing silence filled the hall. 

And then…

The gong sounded, and hundreds of spells fired at once.

Harry traded spells with Caneiro for about fifteen seconds before he realized that she was hopelessly outmatched. Her wand movements were fast and precise, and her spell casting was fluid and technically perfect, but she lacked experience in duelling, and it showed.

Ten or so seconds later, Harry had forced her to commit to an overly long, not-so-well-thought-out chain of spells. Exactly two seconds after she cast, he’d sidestepped and batted her final spell right back towards her. She had been so surprised that she’d barely managed to dodge and when she had, it put her right in the path of his next stunner, and she saw no more.

Once he revived a rather cross, but somewhat awed-looking opponent, Harry observed the other duels going on around him. 

Some of the outcomes were surprising.

Blaise had duelled Nott, but it apparently hadn’t gone well for Harry’s friend, who was urgently nursing a bleeding right arm. Tracey and Pansy were still duelling. Tracey’s wandwork was better than Pansy’s, but the latter knew more useful spells in a duel and neither of them had experience. Charlotte had, to Harry’s great intrigue, been paired up with Malfoy. Evidently, the first year had prevailed. Malfoy was lying bound and wandless at her feet.

The duel that was most interesting and surprising to Harry was Daphne’s. She was duelling Ares Black. To Harry’s extreme surprise, the duel wasn’t going well for Daphne. It wasn’t that Ares was talented, she was a Black and doubtlessly knew more questionable magic than most of the students from the first three years long before she had ever arrived at Hogwarts. But she was also a year younger than Daphne, who was one of the very best students in Harry’s year. Not a duellist, but still…

The duel was still ongoing but by this point, it was clear that Ares was humouring her. Finally, a rapidly cast chain of spells burst through Daphne’s Aegis Vocar shield and she was disarmed and knocked back to the floor. A minute or so later, Lockhart called for a pause and looked mildly troubled.

“That will do, that will do! Impressive displays from many of you but others took it… a bit further than we would have liked. This is sparring, my dear friends, not a championship tournament. I think we will duel differently in light of that… lack of restraint. Perhaps two students from each year at a time, up here on the stage. Let us start with the first years, shall we?”

A Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff first year duelled very sloppily. The duel lasted all of forty seconds before the Ravenclaw girl with platinum blonde hair and odd, silvery eyes was declared the victor. 

Then, the second years were up.

“Potter!” Snape called at once, not even bothering to scan the crowd. When both Harry and Charlus looked towards him, he scrunched up his face. “Competent Potter,” he specified in a silky tone. Many in the hall from all years and houses not present in Harry’s potions classes laughed at the distinction as Harry ascended the steps up to the stage. 

Snape looked quite smug. He may not have loved Harry, but he knew how talented he was. In his mind, this was about to reflect quite well on Slytherin House. “Your move, Gilderoy.” Snape sounded very much like a chess grandmaster who had just made a finishing move.

Lockhart smiled enigmatically back at him. “Competent Potter, huh? An interesting distinction, Severus. Let’s see if it holds up, shall we? Charlus Potter, come on up!” 

Harry’s eyes gleamed. A chance to show the entire school exactly how superior he was to his more famous twin. That was an idea he could get behind. Hell, it would probably even leak to the Prophet within the day.

When Charlus stalked up to the stage and stood opposite Harry, the young Slytherin found himself surprised at the look on his twin’s face. He might have even been unnerved if not for his Occlumency and his own self-confidence. The boy who stood across from him didn't just look confident. He looked resolute, determined and… vengeful, cruel, animalistic? 

All of the above.

Not what Harry had expected to see from the Champion of the Light and the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

“Shall we make this one a best of three, Severus?” Lockhart proposed.

Harry internally cursed, but forcefully clamped down on his mental control, keeping his face completely blank and indifferent. The man was trying to study him. Assess and evaluate him. Well, this was a pain. Suddenly, he had an intense feeling of deja vu. It was eerily similar to the encounter with his brother from the gala back in August.

Once more, he had to beat his brother for his own ego’s sake, but it wouldn’t do to show exactly how advanced he was.

Bugger!

Snape nodded curtly. “Very well.”

“Any final words from either of you?” Lockhart asked. Harry was quite sure that wasn’t standard duelling procedures. The man was really fishing for information now.

“Game over, Harry,” Charlus said in a voice not quite loud enough to carry to the audience. Harry suddenly realized what his brother was implying. He really did think him the Heir of Slytherin. And somehow, he thought this duel would put a stop to the attacks.

It was both so far off the mark and so pathetically naive that Harry could have laughed.

Instead, he settled for a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

“On the gong!” Lockhart prompted. Harry tensed his body as the hall took a collective breath. 

_GONG!_

Harry leapt to the side right away, reacting on instinct. Lucky he had, for several curses sailed through the space he had occupied a second or so earlier. A spell chain to open, huh? That was interesting. Quite a good one, too. The wand movements had been perfect and the casting had been fast — very fast. Accurate, too.

When Charlus’s next volley was strategically placed to lead Harry into yet another onslaught, his eyes narrowed. His brother was clearly more experienced than he’d suspected. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He had no doubt he could win, but whilst holding back…

Damnit!

Harry conjured an Aegis Vocar and forced the spell to move with him. He overcharged it, hoping that it would absorb Charlus's next volley but it didn’t. He was forced to roll to the side and when he came back up to his feet, he was done playing defence.

With a slash of his wand, Harry fired a Stunner towards Charlus at top speed. When the boy sidestepped, he let a volley of spells fly from his wand, forcing his mind and emotions into the perfect state so the magic flowed faster. Charlus was suitably shocked by how fast the magic flowed towards him and he lost his wand, obviously taken aback by the exceptional casting speed.

“Point, Harry Potter,” Lockhart declared, quickly setting up for the second round as he and Snape stepped out of the duelling wards once more after assuring both participants were in position for the second round.

It was clear Harry had won the opening round primarily due to Charlus’s own overconfidence. It was equally clear the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn’t be making that same mistake again.

_GONG!_

This time, Harry sought to end things quickly. He sidestepped the opening volley again but decided to bat Charlus’s final spell back towards him, hoping to take him out the same way he had Isabelle Caneiro.

It was to no avail.

Charlus expertly rolled under the spell, coming back up to his feet and releasing a torrent of offensive spells to match Harry’s. Harry frowned as he just barely managed to dodge. He tried to direct Charlus’s movements with spellfire but the boy was wise to it, this time. After thirty more seconds of trading spells, Harry became fed up and decided to stop holding back.

He wiped his mind of all thought except for clear, precise intent, and a metaphorical storm of magic surged towards Charlus. 

“Protego!”

If not for Occlumency, Harry would have been shocked by Charlus’s ability to conjure that shield. As it was, he had already moved into position and from the side where his brother’s shield failed to cover him, Harry caught him with a well-placed Banishing Hex and sent him hurtling through the air. With a crackling sound and a bright flash of light, Charlus slammed hard into the duelling wards and was sent forcefully back into the arena, rolling several times once he hit the ground.

Lockhart made to signal the end of the duel but before he could, Charlus was on his feet once more, enraged.

“Exoculatus!”

...what?

Harry’s Occlumency abandoned him as the white spell neared. How the fuck did his brother know that spell? Better yet, why the fuck was his light zealot of a brother casting a Blinding Curse that was categorized as dark? 

This didn’t make any sense at all!

At the last possible second, Harry conjured a hasty Protego. 

It held, but barely.

“Potter!” Lockhart bellowed. “Under the rules of-“

“Lacero!”

WHAT THE FUCK!?

Harry dove to the side, knowing from experience that a standard Protego sure as hell wasn’t going to stop that. Worse still, that had been aimed at his chest.

What the fuck was going on?

When he came back up to his feet, he batted Charlus’s Stunner back towards him and let loose with a wave of magic, no longer holding back in the slightest. Lockhart and Snape were both hastily trying to lower the duelling wards, as Charlus had by now been obviously disqualified, but it wasn’t a fast process. Before they could, Charlus was sent flying into them once more, and the magical backlash sent both professors to the floor.

Charlus had bounced up at a shocking rate, but Harry hadn’t waited for him this time. He had cast as soon as his twin had landed back on the stage, knowing all too well that his brother wouldn’t give up that easily.

He had made that fact rather obvious already.

Having not the time to shield nor dodge, Charlus simply raised his wand and fired a spell right back at Harry, a warped look of hatred marring his bruised face. Evidently, he’d smashed it against the stage during one of his falls.

What worried Harry more than his brother’s appearance was the fact that he didn’t even recognize the boy’s next incantation.

“IAPETUS!”

Harry realized two things at the same time.

The first was that the closest thing he came to knowing what the incantation meant was that the Greek titan Iapetus had been known as “the Piercer”. 

The second was that his and Charlus’s spells were on a direct collision course. He had only seen this happen once before- during Grace’s duel against Flint and Higgs in the common room. 

Not knowing what spell his brother had fired off, he had no idea what the results might be should the spells meet. 

Might they cancel each other out completely? Ricochet chaotically in random directions? His overpower Charlus’s? His twin’s overpower his?

It turned out that none of those happened.

What did happen was far more fantastical.

As the spells forcefully careened into one another, they did seem to cancel each other out, but not in the way Harry had expected.

The spells conjoined, and in their place was a brilliant bean of golden light, one that seemed to be composed of pure energy.

No… magic.

It was magic solidified, somehow forced into a physical form.

Harry’s natural ability with Legilimency may not have been as potent as Charlotte’s, but it was practically singing to him. If magic had been radiating off of the Mirror of Erised in waves, then it was now crashing into him with the force of the entire ocean.

The air practically smelled of it.

Moreover, this beam wasn’t the only one. 

More golden strands seemed to stretch outwards from both his and his brother’s wand until the two of them found themselves enclosed not only by the duelling wards, but by a brilliant structure of pure, golden light. 

A shimmering, ethereal dome of magic.

Harry could hear the voices of the onlookers, but they sounded quiet and far away. Vaguely, he registered that the professors had managed to take down the duelling wards and that both of them were now firing spells hopelessly into the dome-like structure that seemed to isolate both himself and Charlus.

Their spells were reflected back at them each and every time.

When Harry’s attention returned to the main beam of light, the one connecting his wand to that of his brother, he realized that smaller, more intricate beads had formed on the larger strand of light. They were slowly creeping towards the tip of his wand.

Intuitively, he somehow knew that this was some sort of test. A battle of wills, of sorts. He had no idea how the fact popped into his mind. It was as if magic itself had informed him of it.

He wouldn’t know until later, but that was exactly what had happened.

He couldn’t lose to Charlus. He wouldn’t lose to Charlus. Not in a duel, not in a magical showcase, not at Quidditch, not in this, not at anything!

He cleared his mind of all thought and crushed every single emotion but one. 

Pure, utter defiance.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the beads of light began to creep back up towards the tip of Charlus’s wand.

Meanwhile, outside the magical phenomenon taking place in front of them, the Great Hall was pandemonium. Many of the students had tried to rush as close as they could to the centre of the stage. Snape and Lockhart were forcefully directing traffic. More accurately, Lockhart was keeping students as far away from the oddity as possible whilst Snape fired spell after spell at the golden dome to no avail. 

“What the hell is going on?” Charlotte asked Grace, clinging onto her older sister’s arm as they crossed paths, using her other arm to take Daphne’s hand. Hopefully, her older sister, the Head Girl, would be able to get them closer than they would get otherwise.

They had to know what was going on! They had to know what was happening to Harry!

“I don’t know!” Grace admitted, needing to shout in order to be heard over the chaos surrounding them on all sides. “I’ve never seen this before… never even heard of it.” She looked down at her little sister. “What do you feel, Charlotte? When focusing on it?”

Charlotte shivered. She had done that for all of three seconds before retracting her Legilimency. She could sense magic, even though it was a skill she was quite novice at. But this…

“Charlotte!”

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, focusing on it once more. She wanted to withdraw immediately. It was so… wrong. So unnatural. It felt ominous, foreboding, and infinitely powerful.

Nothing that felt like that should exist in this world. She was certain of that, if nothing else.

“It’s… unnatural. It feels like it shouldn’t be here.” 

Daphne looked puzzled by that explanation but Grace nodded darkly, as if she had expected as much. “Stay here,” she told both of them firmly, drawing her wand and turning towards the centre of the pandemonium. 

Before she could cast, Snape evidently lost patience and decided to play what must have been his ace.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Unlike all other attempts, the odd bluish slash in the air did not simply disperse against the barrier surrounding the Potter twins.

It seemed to slice straight through the magic itself and the barrier wavered before, with an explosion of pure magic, it erupted outwards, and Charlotte felt completely weightless as her world was turned upside down.

Harry had been so sure he would win the battle of wills.

As soon as he’d occluded, it swung drastically in his direction.

But then, on the brink of defeat, his brother had let out a primal snarl and, amazingly, the beads had begun to slowly slide back towards Harry. Just as they neared halfway, Harry focused harder. Harder than he had ever focused on anything in his entire life.

Before he could see the results, he was consumed by a feeling of weightlessness and then, with a gasp, all the air was forcefully extracted from his lungs as he collided hard with the nearest wall. Charlus had evidently done likewise, but Harry was the first to his feet and what he saw and felt made his eyes widen and his jaw unhinge.

The dome of magic was gone.

But the magic itself was not.

Now, it flowed around the room without any sort of structure at all. All of the occupants of the hall seemed to be climbing back to their feet. Obviously, they too had been thrown forcefully to the floor by whatever magical backlash had finally broken through the otherworldly barrier between the Potter twins and the rest of the school.

As for the magic… it was humming.

It gathered into a sort of cyclone in the middle of the hall and what appeared to be thick, golden dust began to spin faster and faster as it seemed to solidify. As the rate of its speed increased, so did the ominous air in the hall. An ethereal humming seemed to fill the ears of all present as the magic and power built and built. Suddenly, Harry was filled with irrational feelings to lash out at his brother, to ensure that their battle concluded. He crushed it ruthlessly with Occlumency but cried out a second later as Charlus’s Lacero grazed his arm and caused blood to pool.

Somebody who sounded like Daphne screamed, but it was lost in the worried murmurs that filled the hall. The feeling was growing more ominous by the second; and as the magic built and built, everybody felt dread close in on them. Snape tried another one of the curses which had failed the dome, but it had no effect. It was simply swept into the cyclone and only seemed to bolster whatever was about to happen next.

Just as the feeling of impending disaster mounted, there was a blinding flash of fire near the doors and heads turned to see Albus Dumbledore. He was standing just beyond the entrance of the hall and staring at the magical phenomenon in front of him with hard, blue eyes.

The twinkle was absent from those eyes.

For the first time since meeting the man whom Harry had grown to despise for his own, personal reasons, he thought that maybe there really was some truth to the light’s propaganda that Albus Dumbledore had been the only man Lady Voldemort had ever feared. 

Indeed, as Dumbledore’s wand rose in a vehement stance of war and his phoenix let out a cry that sounded fit for the battlefield, Harry wouldn’t have blamed her.

“FIENDFYRE!”

Harry didn’t recognize the incantation, but he suddenly felt his skin crawl as his Legilimency senses picked up whatever the fuck Dumbledore had just cast.

The world around the Headmaster seemed to blur and distort as if the air was bending into something different, something… more. A second later, green fire was everywhere, and the humming sensation all around them was suddenly filled by something even more sinister.

Evil, malevolent cackling. 

Harry shivered. He wasn’t sure if it was just him, but he could practically feel raw hatred emanating from the concentrated mass of fire as it closed in on the cyclone of magic in the centre of the hall. Perhaps it was a matter of Legilimency attunement. If so, he could only imagine how Charlotte felt right about now.

The flames met the cyclone and the cackling grew louder as the ruthless, malevolent fire seemed to exalt in its consumption of the otherworldly magic that had permeated the hall just seconds earlier. After several moments, all in the hall could feel the presence of the cyclone receding and, with a mighty slash of his wand, Dumbledore sent the flames spiralling high before, all at once, they were snuffed out, leaving nothing but a ringing silence behind in their wake.

Before anybody could move, Harry felt magic aimed at his back. He whirled and dodged Charlus’s next spell.

He was so done with this shit after everything that had just happened.

If his brother wanted to play dirty, that was fine by him.

“Serpensortia!”

A ten-foot cobra lunged from Harry’s wand and eyed Charlus cruelly. Before it could advance further, Charlus’s mouth opened and the next thing out of it made everyone in the hall gasp.

**“STOP!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So obviously, Priori Incantatem works differently in this story than it does in canon. It will be partially explained in the next chapter, and a more thorough explanation will come much later in the story. I promise it will make sense in time.**
> 
> **In other news, the next chapter of the AoC audiobook is live on YouTube, Spotify and ITunes. The links to the project can be found on my profile. If you would like to check it out, it’s there, and I would greatly appreciate some support on those platforms. It is completely free and very well done by the narrator, CCCP from my Discord server.**
> 
> **Next: The fallout of the Saviour’s most damning secret being revealed for the world to see. Plus, our favourite masked instructor makes another appearance, leaving complete and utter chaos in his wake.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 31st, 2020.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Athena Hope for their contributions/corrections this week.**


	21. Dangerous Duels and Deadly Drama Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**December 17, 1992  
The Great Hall  
7:49 PM** _

It took Harry several seconds to realize why the Great Hall was gaping at his twin, and several more to realize why the silence was perhaps more absolute than that from moments earlier, which had accompanied the mystifying, magical wonders of the duel. After a moment, his brain put two and two together and his eyes widened.

‘Oh… fuck!’

Charlus was a Parselmouth!

Unlike the rest of the hall, that wasn’t what had Harry reeling. It was the fact that until now, he’d never even considered that such a thing was possible.

Of course his brother would be a Parselmouth! It was a hereditary ability, after all. If Harry possessed it, so would Charlus.

Yet somehow, those dots had never connected inside Harry’s mind.

The implications of this revelation were nearly infinite. 

It confirmed that somehow, the Potters were connected to Slytherin, despite everything _Nature’s Nobility_ said against the fact, as well as the book Tracey had gifted him which covered his family history in greater detail. It also let Harry discover that he was no longer the only Parselmouth in the school, even if this Heir of Slytherin was bluffing.

But there were more major implications as well.

The first of which almost made Harry smirk. If the school was truly as petty as he suspected it to be, he wondered whether he would still be the prime suspect in the hunt to find the supposed Heir of Slytherin. Of course, anybody with a brain would realize that if Charlus Potter was a Parselmouth, Harry Potter should be one too. Yet the wizarding world didn’t exactly seem to be gifted with logic, so it was very possible that whatever force controlled karma had just given his brother a large metaphorical middle finger.

Granted, this would probably confirm to the Gryffindors that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, in their eyes. He might actually need to fear for his life in the halls, so there was that.

The Gryffindors would most likely still suspect him and whatever his personal thoughts about Lockhart, the man had brains. He was going to put the hereditary dots together and Harry very highly doubted his suspicion would shift. It would likely only intensify.

That might have seemed major in the short term, there was one implication that was potentially far more significant.

He and Charlus had both fled to the scene of the first attack.

Charlus had said something about following a commotion. If Harry had been in his place, that was probably the exact excuse he would have come up with. Was it possible that Charlus had heard the voice as well? Was it possible that the voice was not so disembodied after all?

If so, then he had a feeling that he knew the identity of whatever monster supposedly lurked within the hidden Chamber of Secrets. Not exactly, mind you, but if that had indeed been what had pulled Charlus to the scene of the crime, then he was willing to bet a fair bit of gold that the voice’s source was a snake of some kind.

Coincidences were often just events that were too convoluted to see through, after all. That was another quote from one of the older, more personal tomes left behind in the Speaker's Den. 

Well, that’s what it would be in more modern English, anyway.

But those were deep, meaningful thoughts that were better had later. For now, he needed to look surprised. If he wanted to have those sorts of thoughts, they should be directed towards exactly how he could potentially spin this situation to throw the less logical population of Hogwarts off of his trail. For now, surely a great deal of them would suspect him of being a Parselmouth too.

Speaking of which…

The snake had frozen as soon as Parseltongue left his twin’s lips. Harry was only assuming it to be Parseltongue. To him, it had sounded like perfectly normal English. But judging by the shocked, horrified reactions of those around him, he was certain that he was right. The good thing about this was that it may well teach his brother a lesson and, in addition, Harry wasn’t going to get in serious trouble for his conjured serpent taking a bite out of his tosser of a twin.

The bad thing was that now that said snake couldn’t attack its primary target, it reared around, looking for the next person in line who could suffer at its hands. 

And its eyes found Harry.

Conjured serpents were supposed to be completely submissive to their conjurer. Parseltongue unfortunately had the ability to override that, and now Harry was in a predicament.

‘Oh… fuck!’

Silently, he reflected on how often he had thought that tonight. Far too often, but it was just so apt on every occasion. It was truly just one of those nights.

The snake tensed and reared back, poised and ready to strike. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He made a split-second decision to do nothing. He would never be able to raise his wand in time, and revealing himself to be a Parselmouth as well would be utterly disastrous. People suspecting it was one thing. Confirming it was another thing altogether. Plausible deniability was a powerful advantage he did not wish to concede. Not that he was fond of the idea of getting bitten by a snake, but at least here, in front of the entire school, he was pretty sure somebody would heal him swiftly before too much damage could be done.

Or better yet, stop the snake from striking him at all.

He caught motion out of the corner of his eye just as the snake was blasted up into the air. With the threat removed from his general vicinity, Harry glanced around and realized that it had been Grace who had stepped forward and banished the snake. When the thing landed and hissed, she swished her wand in a fluid motion, and the serpent vanished. 

Once more, the hall fell silent.

Harry fumed as his eyes rested on Dumbledore. Perhaps the man hadn’t meant for Harry to get bitten, but he hadn’t raised his wand to stop it from happening either. Granted, the Headmaster looked so surprised at the whole thing that he actually may have just been spaced out completely.

Or he could have been occluding the entire time. That option was equally possible.

Everybody in the hall seemed to wait for the metaphorical bomb to go off. 

Before it could, Granger and Weasley rushed forward and began to guide Harry’s dazed-looking brother swiftly out of the room. Lockhart’s eyes seemed to narrow on the boy. Harry thought he was going to call after him, probably to inform him he had hell to pay for using illegal magic during a duel. Dumbledore rested a hand on Lockhart’s shoulder and gave a minute shake of his head. Harry would have fumed that Charlus was getting off, but he didn’t actually think he was. The gesture didn’t seem like a rejection, just procrastination.

Dumbledore was going to sort it out in his own way. Just not now.

Just as the hall started muttering, Harry felt an arm wrap protectively around him and he was suddenly pulled right up against another, taller body. For a split-second, he tensed, but crushed the feeling of unease with Occlumency, glancing to the side and up into Grace’s bluish silver eyes. 

“We’re leaving. No questions, just go.”

With her arm still draped around his shoulders, Grace began to lead Harry towards the hall’s exit, walking at a very brisk pace. Rhea tailed them, as did several other of Grace’s friends. Harry couldn’t help but notice that every single one of them had their wands drawn. None of them held those implements in a position to quickly use them, but it was obvious to any who knew what to look for that all of them were tense and ready to react on a moment’s notice. Grace held her own wand in the hand that was not attached to the arm wrapped around her young protégé. 

The muttering rose as they neared the exit, but before it could amount to an unreasonable degree, they had already left the hall. Grace did not release her grip on Harry, and he suddenly realized why. They weren’t the only ones exiting the hall. If Grace kept Harry close to her, it would be nearly impossible for anybody to curse him, which was clearly something she thought of as a very real possibility.

Footsteps began to make themselves present, closing fast. Rhea’s wand was the first to turn as Harry glanced over his left shoulder to see Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows in hot pursuit. They too had their wands drawn and their visages were pensive. Behind them, it was a clustered, chaotic throng of students who were pushing towards the doors. Harry suspected his younger set of friends were likely trapped somewhere amid the herd. 

“We’re coming with you,” Calypso insisted. Her voice was as hard as steel as she stared Rhea down. It was apparent to all present that the Rosier Heiress would use force to get her wish if need be. Grace glanced briefly towards Harry before looking over her shoulder. Harry nodded once, signalling his acceptance of her wish.

“Let them,” Grace told Rhea and her friends. The sixth-year prefect lowered her wand reluctantly, allowing the four fifth-year Slytherins to follow them off to wherever Grace was leading them.

_**Moments later, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…** _

“What?” Charlus asked loudly. He was extremely confused. Everything that had just happened was such a blur. Vaguely, memories started coming back to him. Memories detailing exactly which spells he’d used in the second round of his duel with Harry.

Shit!

That must be why his friends had hastily whisked him out of the Great Hall. Perhaps they feared the Slytherins’ retribution. Not that he had actually managed to hit Harry with any of those curses, except for a Lacero that had grazed him.

Merlin, his twin was good.

Like… really good.

He had beaten Alicia in the first, more open round. It had been a fairly close duel, but still. She was a third year and a fairly talented one at that. Yet against his brother, he had mounted almost no offence at all. Even when he had dipped into his darker set of tricks.

Why had he done that?

What the hell had made him think that was a good idea?

He just remembered raising his wand and trying to select his next spell, knowing that all others before had failed him. It was almost… instinctive. And once he cast the first spell… he had been so angry. Rage had consumed him, but it had felt so good to throw those curses around, even when they weren’t landing. Though then again, Harry’s constant evasion of said curses had only fuelled his rage further. Which, in turn, had only led the reddish haze to grow thicker and for his morally unacceptable spells to flow more freely.

Oh, Merlin, he had really botched this one! To think, everybody had thought the flying car had been bad…

“When the hell were you going to tell us?” 

Charlus felt even more confusion flood his already clogged brain. That had not been the first question he had been expecting Ron to ask. Where did you learn those curses? What were you thinking? What is wrong with you? All of the above would have been expected questions, even if he would have been utterly incapable of producing an acceptable answer for any of them. But that…

“Tell you?”

“Yes, tell us!”

“Tell you what, exactly?”

“That you’re a bloody Parselmouth!”

Wait… what?

“That I’m… huh?”

“The snake! You… you commanded it, didn’t you?” Hermione asked timidly.

“I… I only told it to stop?”

“Oh, is that what you said to it?”

“What do you mean? You heard me! I said it in front of the whole hall!” Both of his friends shook their heads.

“Charlus,” Hermione said after taking a deep, heavy breath, “we didn’t hear anything you said. We just heard you speaking Parseltongue. To us, it just sounded like a bunch of incomprehensible hissing.”

Charlus’s mind blanked. “You-you’re not having me on, are you?”

Both of his friends shook their heads once more.

What the hell was going on? He couldn’t be a Parselmouth, could he? Surely, he would have known if he were a Parselmouth. He would have known years ago. Hell, to be a Parselmouth, he would have had to be related to Slytherin, but…

“That’s impossible,” he said numbly. “The Potters have no relation to Slytherin. The only way anybody can speak to snakes is if they have the trait in their bloodline.”

“How do you know you’re not related to Slytherin?” Hermione‘s question was asked very carefully. “The Potters have been in Britain for more than a thousand years. How do you know that somewhere down the line, there wasn’t an affair or something? If it was an affair, something that would have been disgraceful, then naturally, it would never have been recorded.”

Charlus opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and tried to argue.

No words came out.

He looked to Ron imploringly. Ron looked sheepish. “You were speaking it, mate,” he said apologetically. “We all heard you, clear as day. We had no idea what you even said to it.”

“But… obviously I was telling it to stop!”

His two friends exchanged looks. “Plenty of people thought you were sending it after your brother,” Hermione admitted. Charlus’s eyes widened in horror. The worst part was after he had thrown around such malevolent magic so carelessly, he could hardly blame anybody for making that assumption, even if it wasn’t true.

Wow… this had not gone to plan.

So much for showing up his brother.

Wait a minute… his brother!

Charlus’s eyes widened again. “Harry!” 

Both of his friends looked confused. “Er… what about him?” 

“If I’m a Parselmouth, he’s also a Parselmouth!” 

Hermione’s eyes bugged out. “Which means...” she started.

“That he really is the Heir of Slytherin!” Charlus finished, nodding viciously. 

Hermione hesitated. “Well, it does make sense that anybody who may be opening the Chamber of Secrets would be able to speak to snakes. And… the odds of three Parselmouths at Hogwarts aren’t very high.”

“And you’re obviously not doing it,” Ron said emphatically. Charlus realized in that moment that neither Ron nor Hermione had recognized any of the magic he had thrown towards Harry. Obviously, they had seen the effects of the Lacero curse, but that had been a graze, so it probably hadn’t looked too awful. He didn’t look nearly as bad to them as he should have. 

He could come clean, but they were on a much more productive line of thought, so he said nothing to divert said path. It was far better for Charlus to allow Hermione to begin plotting how exactly they would infiltrate the Slytherin common room using Polyjuice Potion than to let her and Ron question him on exactly what kind of magic he’d been using. 

That was a conversation he would much rather save for a later date. Or preferably, not have at all, for that matter. He still had not entirely worked out for himself why he’d thrown that sort of magic around, and it was troubling him deeply for reasons he couldn’t intelligently articulate.

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom...** _

Harry, Grace and the others got to an abandoned classroom before anybody, he included, realized how much blood was seeping from his arm.

“Merlin, Harry,” Cassius breathed, looking wide-eyed at his young friend. Harry, finally being released by Grace, glanced down at his side and paled. 

The right side of his robes was soaked with blood, and the cut on his arm was very deep, although the Lacero curse had only grazed him.

Calypso rushed forward in an instant, wand in hand. Before she could reach him, Grace stepped between them, raising her own wand and shooting a look towards the younger prefect. Calypso clearly wanted to protest, probably to put in that she knew how to heal the damage, but Grace was having none of it.

The Head Girl traced her wand slowly and intricately through the air directly above Harry’s cut and muttered in a language that he didn’t know. It definitely wasn’t Latin, nor was it Greek or anything similar. If he had to bet, he would guess German, but it wasn’t a language he was at all familiar with, so he was pulling at strings.

To the utter astonishment of all present, whatever Grace was muttering worked flawlessly. The effect of her spell was an odd, silver haze that seemed to flow into his cut. It hurt like hell. Harry sucked in a sharp breath and his knees almost gave out, but Grace steadied him with an arm around his waist. A second later, when he looked down at where the cut had been, it was gone.

That was new.

Calypso had healed the damage caused by Lacero before. On those instances during their duels, any time the spell was cast, it was done so with a deliberate lack of true intent behind it. Because of this, the results were always less damaging than what Harry had just experienced. Yet even then, it always took Calypso at least two, most often three passes over the cut with the same incantation to heal it.

Grace had done so with one incantation. With one spell.

Even Calypso looked awestruck. Judging by the brief-expression of pure incredulity on her face, that wasn’t supposed to be possible, at least not based on what she knew.

Harry’s respect for Grace grew even more. Calypso had put a large amount of time into healing. Those who frequently learned questionable forms of combat magic needed to, if they ever planned on casting said magic. Yet even Calypso’s ability paled in comparison to Grace’s. And as far as Harry knew, Grace’s career path wasn’t that of a healer. He had absolutely no idea what she was planning to do after this year, but he somehow couldn’t picture the brilliant heiress of House Weitts slaving away at Saint Mungo’s for the majority of her life.

Her presumed lack of specialization in the field of healing only made the feat more impressive. Hell, even the Carrows looked surprised.

Grace’s wand didn’t stop after healing Harry’s cut. She spun on her heel and aimed at the door, weaving her wand through the air like quicksilver, drawing tight, intricate runes so fast that Harry’s eyes could barely track the wand movements. Whatever she was doing, she had done it before, and not just once or twice.

When she had finished her own wards, Calypso shot her a questioning glance before looking at the door. Grace shrugged. “You can add wards if you’d like, but it’s completely unnecessary. Nobody will find this room unless I want them to.” Calypso wordlessly cast what Harry knew to be Muffliato despite Grace’s proclamation. When she had concluded, Grace turned to Harry. She looked perfectly calm, but there was an odd intensity in her eyes.

“Potter, I need you to answer me honestly. Are you or are you not the Heir of Slytherin?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Answer the question.”

“No… I’m not the Heir.”

Grace nodded. “I didn’t think so, but I had to check. With your brother being a Parselmouth-“

“I don’t know how he can speak to snakes,” Harry said, forcing complete confusion to the forefront of his mind. Damn, he loved Occlumency. He hoped that by pleading ignorance, Grace would provide him with a plausible set of circumstances he could begin regurgitating to all who would listen. Hopefully, the reason would be easy enough to believe as to imply that Harry couldn’t be the Heir of Slytherin. “I’m certainly not a Parselmouth.”

There was an instant of time so short that Harry almost missed it. An instant in which Harry thought he saw… something in the Weitts heiress’s posture. A heartbeat later, he was sure he had imagined it. 

“Is that possible?” Rhea asked slowly. “To be a Parselmouth and your brother not be one? Or, in this case, vice-versa?”

Everybody stared at Grace. Her face was blank but her eyes were churning. Harry could practically see the gears grinding as she thought at top speed. “I suppose it is probably possible. Parseltongue is a hereditary trait, just like… say, Metamorphmagery. The latter trait is notorious for skipping countless generations, not just individual cases. I suppose it’s possible that Parseltongue could be similar. I honestly have no idea. We know so little about Parselmagic that it’s impossible to say for sure. The known descendants of Slytherin seemed to have advertised that Parseltongue is always a trait possessed by Slytherin’s line, but that could be propaganda.”

“What I don’t understand,” Calypso said carefully, “is that the Potters have no recorded relation to Slytherin.”

“Don’t be naive, Rosier,” Grace chided. “The Potters are a family that has been notoriously Liberal for centuries. Admitting a connection to Slytherin, given the connotations of his line, would be highly politically damaging at best. Since the rise of the Dark Lady, it would be far worse.”

“I’m not denying that they would like to hide it. What I’m confused about is how they could keep a secret like that under wraps. That seems like something that would be certain to leak out at some point.”

“Magic is truly a wonderful thing,” Grace answered softly. “If major secrets are meant to be kept, magic can allow one to do it, as long as somebody knows how it needs to be shaped to do so. Magic is nearly a limitless force. That’s what most people fail to understand. If a family as old, well off and traditionally skilled as the Potters wanted to hide a damning secret, I don’t doubt that they would accomplish that goal with little drama.”

All in the room were quiet following the conclusion of Grace’s rather ominous proclamation. Harry’s mind was whirling, trying to fit all the pieces together. As the Potter Heir, he wondered if it was something he could actually look into. Given his shaky relationship with his father and the fact that he was spending the holidays at Hogwarts, he doubted it. 

“But that’s not important,” Grace was saying. “What is important is that now, Potter is going to be suspected more than ever as the Heir of Slytherin. The majority of the student body is going to assume that he can speak it. There will be those who assume the Gryffindor Potter is guilty, but thanks to our house’s shining reputation and the Boy-Who-Lived’s sparkling one, I would wager that the majority of the school will still be steadfast against our Potter. And now, with what they will view to be confirmation, the Gryffindors, in particular, might actually turn into dangerous enemies. 

“I am trusting everybody in this room to make sure that Potter does not leave the common room alone.”

“We’ve been doing that already,” Cassius filled in. “Us here and the rest of the Quidditch team.”

Grace nodded curtly. “Good, continue doing that, but know you’ll have more help from us now.” She gestured from herself, to Rhea, to her other two friends in the room. Harry thought them more followers than friends, but it was only an assumption, really. 

He wasn’t sure how much he liked this escort business. It made doing anything productive a right pain. It was nearly impossible to sneak out to the abandoned classroom in the morning to practice, and he couldn’t frequent the library easily either. That wasn’t even to speak of his lessons with Grace. He supposed she could escort him herself, but that was likely to raise alarm bells the two of them had valiantly tried and so far succeeded in keeping quiet. 

He supposed that sneaking out after curfew was an option. He could only get so much done at that time of night though. It was a start; a temporary solution. Hopefully, whoever was responsible for the disappearances was either apprehended soon, or made some move that proved Harry’s innocence. 

Either that, or he was going to somehow learn how to stay invisible for longer than his ring would allow him to. It wasn’t magic he’d looked into, simply for the fact that he knew it would be well above his level.

After some more details were hammered out, everybody began to exit the room. Harry didn’t need to wait for Grace’s subtle gesture. He had already known she was intending to speak privately with him. He just knew her well enough by now to have known it was coming. He also had a distinct impression, if their wary looks were anything to go by, that his fifth-year friends would be waiting right outside the door. He was sure that Grace was also aware of this but if she was, it clearly didn’t bother her. 

As soon as the door closed, she turned towards Harry. “You don’t have any idea how your family could have any links to Slytherin, do you?”

He shook his head. Unlike the bit about his own Parseltongue ability, he didn’t have to lie at all this time. “No idea. I’ve vaguely traced our history back. We’ve been in Britain since the ninth century, but there’s no link to Slytherin that’s ever been recorded.”

Grace nodded. “I thought not, but I also thought it best to make sure.” She pierced him with a penetrating stare. “I need you to answer my next question honestly.” Harry nodded reluctantly. “How did you get a handle on emotional suppression and control so quickly? You didn’t seem that close last Sunday, yet you have a strong handle on it now. It’s not mastered, but it is freely at your disposal.” Her face stayed stony. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something that should be theoretically impossible with the Mind Arts.”

That question was problematic.

The honest answer was he had no idea. Reading Emily’s notes, he supposed? Even that didn’t make sense, as most of what he had read on the topic had been things he’d known already. Seeing them all in front of him at once had helped, but it was… odd. They had all just sort of… clicked and came together in his mind. All of a sudden, it was as if he had always known how to do it.

“I don’t know.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Elaborate.”

He bit his lip. “I actually don’t know. My readings just all sort of… came together. It all just suddenly made sense.”

Grace stared back at him. “I’m going to be frank with you, Harry. I don’t believe you. Not even a little bit.” His blood ran cold. “You’re a very good student in Occlumency. Perhaps even teetering on prodigious. But Charlotte and I both have a stronger affinity to our chosen sectors of mind magic than you do to yours. And neither of us had information just click into place. Nor did we master stage one of Occlumency in half a year — without formal instruction for most of that.

“I don’t know who else is teaching you Occlumency or how else you’re learning. A book seems most likely to me, based on circumstances, but I don’t see how any book could teach such an intuitive subject so well.” Harry’s heart was racing but he kept his emotions buried and his face blank. “I’m not going to press you. All I want you to tell me is that whatever method you’re using, you trust it. Not only its competence, but you trust that it is in no way, shape or form manipulating you, influencing you, or causing you anything negative in any way whatsoever.”

Harry had to think about that. Emily hadn’t done anything to him that he would consider negative. It was technically possible that she was manipulating him with her explanation of dark magic, but he doubted that was the case. She had been nothing but honest with him, best he could tell. She also let him be the instigator of most of their conversations. That in and of itself screamed of openness, and Harry liked to think he would have at least had some sense of unease if he was being manipulated. He certainly didn’t trust Emily unconditionally, hence why he was still going to ask Grace about the Dark Arts, but he trusted her enough to affirmatively answer this question. 

He also supposed he could ask Grace about the Dark Arts now, but given that as a segway, it would likely only make her more suspicious; that was better left for a later date.

“I trust my source of information. I am as sure as I can be that I’m not being influenced or manipulated.”

There was a long pause in which Grace seemed to pierce him with her stare once more. He felt no Legilimency probe, not that she couldn’t have snuck a subtle one in without him knowing if she wanted to. Despite that, he was sure she was not using Legilimency, but it did sort of feel that way, what with the manner with which she was looking at him.

“That’s good enough for now,” Grace decided. “If that changes, you will come to me immediately. Agreed?” Harry nodded. It was odd. Grace could have an ulterior motive. She was one of the few people who could blatantly lie to him and get away with it if she wanted to based on her level of prowess in Occlumency, but he somehow didn’t think that to be the case. This entire conversation didn’t scream of plots and planning. It had until the others had left, but since they had been alone together, Harry and Grace’s discussion had felt more like a genuine one. One a concerned older sister might have with their younger brother.

Wow, that was an odd thought. Not that he ever thought Grace would look at him like that. She was probably just so used to speaking that way to Charlotte that was how it came across. Even if it wasn’t applicable, that was a very strange thought to Harry.

“I do have a warning for you,” Grace’s voice was suddenly as serious as Harry had ever heard it. 

“A… warning?”

“Yes, and a request. They go hand in hand.” She paused, obviously choosing her next words very carefully. “Dumbledore is going to ask you about this. There is no way he won’t. That man’s mind is currently working at a million miles an hour, trying to work out what is all going on. If you have anything to hide, use whatever method you learned to get a grasp of that subskill. But try applying it to Active Occlumency. Theoretically, it should be impossible. It should only be able to be learned with an active partner, so unless that’s how you’re learning, which I doubt, it should make no difference. Then again, as I have said, you’ve already done things with the Mind Arts that shouldn’t be possible at all. 

“So if you can identify this method, I would use it again. By now, Dumbledore will be getting desperate, and this does not look good for you. What with the Weasley twins conveniently vanishing, followed by this confirming in many people’s minds that you’re a Parselmouth. I doubt Dumbledore is going to miss his chance to… press you on the matter if you know what I mean.” 

She thought Dumbledore might legilimize him?

Fuck!

How the hell was he supposed to prevent that. Avoiding eye contact like the plague, he supposed. Then, he remembered something else. “Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Charlotte knows something about Lockhart. Or, in her words, she knows of circumstances that lead her to suspect things about Lockhart. Is it safe to assume you’re in the same boat?”

Grace seemed to choose her next words very carefully. “It would be a safe assumption for you to make based on the information you have, yes.”

“I’m not prying, but Lockhart has been the main supporter of the theory that I’m the Heir. Do you have any idea if he might know Legilimency? Because if he does, he’s definitely going to try and use it now.”

Grace thought about it, looking as though she were doing so with great intensity. “I can tell you that I’m quite certain Gilderoy Lockhart didn’t know Occlumency or Legilimency when he left Britain to start travelling in 1979. Now, I’m quite sure he at least knows the former.”

“According to your sister, he does.”

“She would know better than me. Anyway, if he’s learned the former, it’s not impossible that he’s learned the latter, even though practitioners of Legilimency are definitely rarer than those of Occlumency. If I were you, I would prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

Proper preparation prevents poor performance. The quote replayed once more in Harry’s mind and he nodded. “Thanks, Grace.”

She smiled. “Any time, Harry. One more thing.” He looked curiously up at her as she stepped closer to him. Grace rested both hands on his shoulders and looked down at him intently. “Just be careful, okay?”

He nodded. “I almost always try to be. It just doesn’t usually work.”

_**Later that night, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

Harry’s conversation with Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had been held privately and concluded promptly. He’d told them all he was not the Heir of Slytherin, had untruthfully assured them he could not speak to snakes, promised them that he was okay and that he was not going to do anything stupid, and then rushed off to the Speaker’s Den.

That was where he resided now, with both the journal connected to Emily Riddle and the woman’s old, personal journals laid out in front of him. For now, he chose to pay the live journal his attention. There would be time to experiment with the older material later. He really didn’t think there had been a trick to it. He was fairly sure he’d just gotten exceptionally lucky and that was that.

What he was more curious about was what the hell had happened? How did his brother know that kind of magic? What could have possibly made the Boy-Who-Lived resort to it, and what in the name of Merlin had all that mysterious, magical nonsense been about? And those flames that Dumbledore had conjured…

He was pretty sure Emily Riddle would have no answers for anything regarding his brother. Consequently and fairly obviously, he had no plans to ask her about him. But the more magic-based questions? If anybody he knew could answer them, she was quite literally at the top of that list. If she couldn’t provide him with the answers, he would probably never find them.

_Emily,  
I’ve had possibly the craziest night of my entire life. I am completely baffled and wondered if I could ask you some questions that I somehow think are ridiculously obscure and even more complicated?_

It was as if Emily could sense the haste and panic with which he wrote. Her response was practically instantaneous and if Harry had feared his warning about complexity might scare her off, he was sorely mistaken.

_For what must be the hundredth time by now, you never need my permission to ask a question. When have I ever denied you information? Of course, I will answer your questions. Firstly though, I would like to know what has you so wound up._

Harry took a meaningful period of time explaining to Emily exactly what had happened up until the conclusion of his duel with Charlus. He left no detail out. No movement, no thought, no curse. He even told her how odd it was for his brother, the would-be paragon of light to be throwing around “dark” curses as if they were some cheap, poorly built muggle contraption that was fifty percent off. 

_Do you know how he learned of these spells? Or when exactly?_

_Neither. I would assume he learned them since the end of last year. We…_

Shit! That had been close. Harry had almost just admitted he and Charlus had been in a life-threatening situation at the end of their first year. Today had really taken its toll on him, apparently. Obviously, he was off his game. He clamped down particularly hard on his Occlumency before putting his quill to the parchment once more, but with a higher degree of caution this time around.

_We got into a… stressful situation at the end of our first year. Let’s just say he had more reason then to throw around dark spells than he did now, but he didn’t use them then._

Emily’s response was slower this time. _That is fairly well thought out, yes. Without all the necessary context, it is hard for me to say, but I would tend to agree with that assessment based on the admittedly limited amount of information I have. I asked because plenty of people learn the Dark Arts the wrong way._

_What do you mean, the wrong way?_

_We spoke some time ago about the myth that is dark magic addiction. I explained to you that primarily, this myth exists based on a misconception. Can you remember what that misconception was?_

Of course, Harry remembered. _It’s powerful magic that is addictive, not dark magic._

_Indeed, that is correct. But I also spoke to you of one exception in which magic commonly referred to as dark could be addictive. Can you remember that instance?_

Harry actually had to think about it. Not because his memory was failing him, but because Emily had never said it in language that plain. It had been there, but deciphering that precise meaning required some reading between the lines on his part. 

_You said that if you couldn’t conjure up the proper intent and chose to cast on raw emotion, it could cause problems._

_Correct. This is not an issue with magic commonly referred to as being dark, but with esoteric magic in general. I am assuming you will have no trouble in telling me what esoteric magic is?_

Harry almost sighed. Emily did love testing him. It was partially why she was such a great teacher, in Harry’s opinion. _Esoteric magic is any spell that requires emotional fuel to cast as well as intent._

_Mostly correct, though it does not technically need to be a spell. Things like rituals can also fall into this categorization._

Harry frowned. _I… didn’t expect you to bring rituals up when writing to a twelve-year-old._

He could practically feel the amusement dripping from every line of her response. _You are not like any twelve-year-old I have ever met._

Harry smiled in spite of himself. _Touché._

_Back on topic. The problem is not necessarily with dark magic, but with esoteric magic. Anything that requires raw emotion to cast, especially when, in instances of casting powerful magic- which is almost always the case when said magic is esoteric- is intrinsically addicting. It is so by nature. If your brother has learned to cast by using raw emotion as a catalyst, that would explain it. It would particularly explain why he completely lost control after the first questionable spell._

_If he has been practicing this way for all these months, it is simply conditioning. I have spoken of magical memory on numerous occasions. It is a powerful force and one to be respected. It extends to the mind, as well. When he casts the first spell, his mind instinctively knows what is to come based on his prior training. It has simply become a mental cue, of sorts. It is already producing the emotion it thinks necessary for his next spell. Which, in turn, would only spiral with said addiction. It would be exacerbated further by the high stress of the situation and the fact that whilst duelling you, he was likely quite frustrated._

That… was shockingly logical and made perfect sense on every level.

So the question now became, what idiot would teach the Boy-Who-Lived to cast magic like that with raw emotion?

_Again,_ Emily continued, _this is a fundamental component of esoteric magic. The Boggart-Banishing Charm is one that I would suspect you know of. If a person were to cast that often enough with no mental monitoring, they would become naturally infatuated with the charm. The same goes for the Cheering Charm. That is actually one of the reasons you are explicitly told not only to not have it cast upon you often, but to rarely cast it yourself._

Harry was still nodding along. There were gaping holes in the story that he just couldn’t fill as a result of missing context he may never be made privy to, but it seemed the most likely solution to him. It made perfect sense, as did most things Emily ever spelled out. She was perpetually insightful, that was for sure. On that note…

_That makes sense, but that whole incident wasn’t actually the most baffling that happened tonight._

Harry could practically see Emily’s eyebrow raise despite the fact he had no idea what she might look like. _Oh? Now you have me truly interested. The events you have written about already are intensely intriguing. I am curious to know what, in your estimation, is even more puzzling?_

Harry did the best he could to describe what had happened when Charlus’s spell had collided with his own. From the beam of golden light connecting their two wands to the odd, ethereal enclosure which had served as their makeshift prison, to the odd way that Harry had intuitively known what to do in the battle of wills despite being completely baffled as to what was going on. He told as far as Snape breaking the connection. At that point, he stopped and waited for her answer.

It was a much longer wait than usual, and it somehow felt ominous.

_I confess that I have only ever heard myths of such things happening. This… is magic that I should not name. It is magic that is hitherto unknown. Magic that has not been lost as much as it has been buried by those who control the world. It is magic that is dangerous on a level that not even the Unforgivable Curses could ever hope to match._

_But you know about it?_

Her reply felt hesitant. _I do, yes. As I said, I have spent much of my life dedicated to furthering my own understanding of magic. One could say I am less than fond of restraints put on the thing itself, particularly in regards to what a person can and cannot learn. Hence, I have never been one for following such restrictions._

_So… will you explain it to me?_ Harry asked hopefully.

_I can explain the specific instance, I suppose. But you cannot repeat a word of this to anyone. This is probably the least sinister incarnation that this lost branch of magic has to offer, but it is a gateway to far more terrible things. Things that people in your country would disappear in the middle of the night simply for knowing about._

Harry’s breath caught. What hellish kind of magic could be so dangerous that people would be silenced simply for knowing about it? What on earth was he getting himself into? 

_What happened tonight goes by several names. The most accepted of these, many centuries ago, was Priori Incantatem._

Harry blinked. _Is it a coincidence that it sounds so similar to Priori Incantato?_

_Not at all._

Harry nodded, writing for Emily to go on.

_This is… difficult to explain without telling you things you are far safer not knowing. However, I do not see any way of explaining this without at least revealing what this branch of magic is called and revealing at least a minimal bit about it. I am going to give you the option to stop me now. Once I tell you this, it is a secret you must guard against even your closest of friends. You cannot tell a living soul you know the name of such magic, let alone any of how it works. For your own safety and for that of those around you, I implore you to keep what I am about to say to yourself._

Harry could practically feel the temperature in the room drop by ten degrees. The light seemed to dim despite the vividly painted walls and the place which he had always thought of as a sanctuary suddenly felt far less welcoming. It was no longer a safe haven, but an open podium on which he would stand and be judged by whatever force was making the air around him seemingly tingle with tension, with danger, and with intense foreboding.

Stubbornly suppressing all emotion that threatened to rise to the surface, Harry wrote his next message with an admirably steady hand. I promise I won’t tell a soul.

A long pause, and then…

_The best way to describe Priori Incantatem would be to call it a magical phenomenon. This is true for every bit of phenomenon within this ancient and dangerous branch of magic._

_What is the subject, or branch, or whatever it is called?_

_Chaos Magic._ Just those two words seemed to whisper sinisterly in Harry’s mind, and he actually shivered as he felt some sort of cold impression as it seemed to touch his very soul, sending a tremendous tremor of trepidation through his body. Clamping down on his emotional control once more, Harry focused back on the journal, in which more words were written now. 

_Magic not of this realm. I will not get into details about Chaos Magic. I am sorry, but I resolutely refuse. Suffice to say that magic is a force that lives all around us, and that force is what we draw upon for spells, wards, rituals and the like. Chaos Magic differs because the magic is fundamentally different. It is being drawn from a different source altogether and the force does not act in the same way. It is magic borne of chaos and impossibilities. It is, in many ways, how the magic we know of today came to be._

_I understand if you can’t tell me this, but if it helped to create magic how we know it, then why is it so taboo?_

_Because, Harry, the problem came when we humans learned to control magic. Chaos Magic is not meant to be warped and controlled. When that became a possibility, if admittedly not a likely one, it was an apocalyptic problem._

He could actually sort of understand why. The magic that had filled the Great Hall both during and after Priori Incantatem was in effect truly did feel otherworldly. It felt immensely powerful and seemed to dwarf all else in the room. If that sort of magic could even be partially controlled by those with nefarious plots in mind… yes, he could see how that could be problematic. Possibly even apocalyptic.

_The reason the names Priori Incantatem and Priori Incantato are so similar is because the prior gave wizards the idea to create the latter._

That was quite perplexing. _How did they come up with that? They’re nothing alike._

_They are more alike than you realize. Your scenario was exceptional, even in the case of Priori Incantatem. All legends about the event indicate that it takes place when two wizards duel with implements containing brother cores. In your instance, this means whatever core your wand possesses is linked to that of your brother. So, say, if you had a phoenix tail feather as your core, this means your brother would have a feather from the tail of that same phoenix._

Harry thought about that. The probability of such a thing happening seemed incredibly small. He had only ever heard of one phoenix, and that was the one that currently resided in the very castle that he currently occupied. Yet if what Emily was saying was the truth, then that must be the case.

Odd though, for he very much doubted Charlus had purchased his wand in Knockturn Alley.

Very strange indeed.

_In any case,_ Emily continued, _in all legends that I have read about Priori Incantatem, the conclusion of the battle of wills always ends when one combatant forces the smaller beads of light to make contact with the other’s wand. In the short term, this triggers the loser’s wand to regurgitate the spells it has most recently cast. In the long term, there are… other, more complex effects. For the scope of this explanation, what is important to know is that the victor gains an eternal advantage over the opponent that fell to his will._

_In many ways, Priori Incantatem happens because of an impossibility. Brother cores are intrinsically linked to one another. By their nature, they are meant to work in harmony with one another, and will optimally perform when that scenario is the reality. They are extremely reluctant to fight one another, so they seek to end the conflict in the most decisive yet least destructive way possible. By forcing the battle of wills upon the two combatants, it is magic’s way of seeking resolution. To magic, the victor of the battle is the one most worthy to wield said cores, hence, they will now have an eternal advantage over their adversary._

_Possibly, this is also magic’s intervention. The ancient Greeks theorized that this was magic’s way of discouraging the loser of said battle from trying again, thus hopefully avoiding future conflicts. I personally do not think it that complex. Magic is all about balance at its core. There is always give and take with magic. It takes your free will for a time and locks you in a battle that will have long-lasting consequences. Because of this, I think magic is simply rewarding the victor for winning the battle as a way of maintaining the balance I spoke of. The take was forcing the battle and the give is the result. This is just my theory and it could be wrong, but it does make sense to me._

That was a lot of information to take in. Harry could see how wizards may have seen the natural occurrence of one’s wand replaying its acts and sought to artificially make that same thing happen on a lesser scale. It was actually rather clever. Yet, he and Charlus hadn’t reached the point of resolution.

_What do you think happened with Charlus and I then?_ We never got to that point. The barrier or whatever you want to call it was broken. The connection went down with it.

_I can only guess, for as I said, there are no instances I have ever read that speak of such things happening. For that matter, I would be intensely curious to see what spell broke the effect. I would not have thought it possible without using means that would have been very obvious. The only means I can think of that would likely have broken the connection are such that you would be specifically aware of how the connection was broken._

Harry shuddered. He was sure that she was at least in part referring to whatever the hell Dumbledore had conjured to combat the angrily churning cyclone of magic that was set to tear through the Great Hall as if it were a tornado in the heart of Death Valley.

_So, you think magic trying to force a resolution is why I suddenly felt like I needed to fight Charlus? I actually had to occlude in order to block it._

_That is a very insightful theory, Harry. Well done!_ Harry felt his cheeks flush and didn’t bother suppressing it since he was alone. Praise in written form felt nearly as alien as it did in person. _Yes, I think that is likely what happened. The surge of magic in the hall you described was probably the remaining ambient magic unsure of what to do next._

Harry wasn’t sure if he actually wanted his next question answered. Part of him thought it was probably better left a mystery but damn his natural curiosity. _What do you think would have happened if it would have been allowed to form?_

_I have no idea,_ Emily admitted for possibly the first time ever. _Magic of this source, manner and magnitude is impossible to predict. In part, I think it would have sought a way to force your hand in facing your twin once more, even in spite of your Occlumency. Doubtlessly, it would have sought repayment from whoever managed to break the initial connection. Beyond that, I am unsure._

_How exactly was the magic dispelled when it turned… chaotic? You never did get as far as explaining the specifics, just that it was taken care of. I can only think of one spell that would work, but I hesitate to imagine any would use it in a school. Specifically when considering that I am quite certain only one living person within that school knows how to cast it._

Harry paused, wondering how best to even put into words what had happened in the hall. Without affirmation, he was quite sure that whatever Dumbledore had done fell into this categorization of Chaos Magic. Just as certainly, he knew that the magic employed was far more dangerous than that of Priori Incantatem. The difference, at least in their situation, was that Dumbledore had possessed control over whatever monstrous manifestation of magic he’d conjured. 

It took Harry some time to work out how exactly to explain the phenomenon beyond the obvious visual cues. Billowing green flames, the odd, distortion in the air as if the very world had been opened to something more, and the way the fire had consumed the ambient magic churning in the air. What was more difficult to explain was the unmistakable feeling of utter malevolence, as well as the unnatural feelings of hatred and fury that arose simply by standing near the fire. Not to mention the irrational dread the flames spread effortlessly throughout the room in a way that not even the surging, ominous magic before it had managed.

After quite a time and several attempts, Harry was fairly sure he’d done an adequate job of explaining to Emily exactly what had transpired. There had been a brief moment in time when he debated not telling her at all. It seemed sensitive information to put it kindly. On the other hand, he very much doubted Emily would do anything with the information that would negatively affect him. Plus, she had told him about this Chaos Magic, which was apparently a massive risk to take.

The time waiting for Emily’s response was longer than Harry had ever waited before. It was blatantly obvious that she was choosing her next words with the utmost caution. 

_It is as I suspected and feared. I will not speak the name of that spell, even if you heard it cast aloud. It is an evil far beyond Priori Incantatem because it is one of the instances I spoke of earlier that caused the branch of magic to be buried deep within the belly of history. It is a wizard controlling this branch of magic to do things that should not be possible within this world. Albus Dumbledore is quite probably the only person alive who could cast that spell and not disappear in the middle of the night for committing said action. He is also one of probably only three people in the world who knows how to cast that spell._

_Your best course of action is to forget all about that spell, Harry. Do not think about it or its incantation. It is not magic to be trifled with._

_Please do not go looking into Chaos Magic. It is an utter waste of time. I very highly doubt there is a book in England that would even speak of the myths pertaining to said magic, let alone the thing itself. Above all else, pursuing that avenue is a long, twisty and treacherous road, one that metaphorically looks over the edge of a very large cliff. There have been rare individuals who have tried to traverse this road, but almost all of them have fallen prey to the dangers and toppled off the edge, never to return._

Harry could not help but feel his heart flutter. Emily had never spoken of magic with anything but utter reverence. Now, she spoke of this Chaos Magic as if its very use would be the destruction of all things. 

That alone put Harry on edge.

He would keep his word. He would tell nobody of this, nor would he go looking into secrets clearly best left undiscovered. 

But he would not soon be forgetting the raging power of Fiendfyre, nor the enchantingly ethereal hum of Priori Incantatem. Even if he could, there was a part of him that never wanted to forget that power.

_**Meanwhile, back in the bathroom on the second floor...** _

Now alone in the bathroom and hidden safely away from the potentially prying stares of his two best friends, Charlus shook madly as he rubbed his hands all over his face, trying to make heads or tails of what had happened earlier that day.

It was a blur, a haze of red in his memories that he had no hope of deciphering. He could not remember thinking, let alone justifying nor barely even acting. It was as if something external had seized forceful control over his mind the moment he had cast the first dark curse towards his brother.

Charlus shook even more. The thought that somehow, someway, he was being pulled down a slippery slope that could lead him into the pit of darkness scared Charlus more than anything else in the world. He couldn’t deny that lately, he had been utterly miserable, fed up with the world and clearly morally questionable when push came to shove. 

He took a long, shaky breath. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and there was only one way he knew how. 

Well, one reliable way, anyway. He could ask his father, but he practically blanched at the very thought. What would his father, Lord Potter, Senior Auror and high-up member of the Liberal Faction think of his son’s potential descent into darkness?

No, that was not a conversation Charlus would be willingly entering himself into any time soon.

But he knew somebody whom he trusted nearly as much as his father. A man who had never let him down and a man who he highly doubted would be judging him for whatever was plaguing him.

It was to him who Charlus needed to reach out.

_**December 18, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:11 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_The Boy-Who-Lived Shows Shades of Darkness as the Hogwarts Duelling Club Descends Into Dangerous, Deadly Chaos!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

“Charming,” Harry commented dryly as Daphne turned her morning edition of the Daily Prophet so he and the rest on his side of the table could see it.

“She works fast,” Tracey observed.

Harry’s outward countenance didn’t change, but that comment struck true. She did work fast. Unnaturally fast, it would seem. The incidents which she was doubtlessly writing about had taken place barely twelve hours ago, yet she had evidently heard about them in time to publish an article for the very next morning. 

That should not have been possible. 

… at all.

Even if Skeeter had sources within the castle, which she obviously did, there was no way communication should have been that fast. An owl could certainly have reached Rita overnight, but certainly not in time for the publishing process to take place promptly enough to distribute the morning edition of the paper in time. 

Harry really needed to look into methods of magical communication. There were obviously both owl post and the floo, but neither option would have worked in this instance. Owl post would have been much too slow, and no student had access to the floo network within Hogwarts. Not unless the common room fires could be used, but even then, doing that discreetly sounded nearly impossible. 

The only other method of contact Harry knew of was the instantaneous messaging system he enjoyed utilizing to contact Emily. He and Charlus had those parchments too. Well, Charlus had left his at home and obviously never asked for it to be sent back, but if that was the case, they clearly existed. Then again, in one instance, the connection had been set up by Voldemort, and the other by Dumbledore. Neither magical was exactly the norm. It was possible that setting something like that up was exceptionally difficult. 

“Daphne,” he asked, following that same train of thought, “do you know of any ways somebody could instantly contact another person out of the castle? A plausible way, that is?”

Daphne thought about it, tapping her finger on the table. “There are two-way communication charms that can be applied to things like books. They would work. If you’re trying to figure out how Skeeter is doing it, that could maybe be it.”

“How difficult are these books to get ahold of? Or how difficult are these charms to cast?”

She thought about that for a moment. “The books’ legality is… a grey area. They’re not illegal to own, but they’re not exactly legal to sell. You can definitely get them if you have the right connections, but it would probably cost an arm and a leg because of the risks involved for the seller.” 

Harry nodded, indicating that he was following along. “And the charm?”

“I’m not actually sure, but I’m assuming it’s very difficult, or else everybody would probably have one.”

That was Harry’s line of thought as well. From the sounds of it, one did not need the skill of Dumbledore or Voldemort to cast it, but it didn’t sound as if it could easily be done by your everyday witch or wizard, either. Possibly, Skeeter was that skilled, but Harry doubted it. If she was, he saw no reason why she would be a writer for a newspaper when there would inevitably be far more lucrative avenues for her to explore if she truly was that skillful.

She could have had somebody else enchant it for her, but then how would she have afforded it? He didn’t imagine that being a writer for the Prophet forked out a salary high enough to purchase something like that.

Yet, he could think of no other answer, even as he read the article in question, frowning disdainfully at the last paragraph, in which Skeeter tied it back, in part, to him. If Charlus was a Parselmouth and he was caught at the scene of the crime, it obviously meant either both twins were guilty, or Harry was guilty, right?

It was certainly the outlook the school had. Harry had been escorted by his older and younger set of friends this morning, plus Derrick and Bole. It was the first time he’d left the common room since last night’s incident, and they wanted to be especially careful as they gauged the school’s general reaction.

It was less than positive.

As Harry mulled over these thoughts, he failed to notice a tawny owl flying low over the furthest table from where he sat, the one draped in a crimson tablecloth.

This meant that he also failed to notice the way the bird landed in front of Charlus and how the boy took on a look of utter relief upon reading it. And then, how another letter found itself in front of him. This letter, in contrast to the first, caused the Boy-Who-Lived to pale dramatically.

_**Several hours later, on the third floor…** _

Charlus had never been so nervous for a simple meeting. He supposed that in a sense, this meeting was anything but simple. In another, he was meeting with a man with whom he was intimately familiar with. He very much doubted the problem on their hands was simple. He just hoped that his godfather would have an elegant, simple solution to the problem.

Charlus had hastily sent a letter off to Peter in hopes that he would get it as soon as possible. He would have mailed his father, but he was unsure and unwilling to find out how the man would have reacted to his son casting dark magic. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t tell him. He fully planned to do just that eventually, but it would ideally be after he spoke with Peter on the matter and perhaps gained at least a small bit of understanding in regards to what exactly had happened.

Through some brilliant stroke of luck, Peter had apparently been in Hogsmeade last night. This meant that Charlus’s owl found him promptly, and Peter had returned a letter that very morning at breakfast. The letter had instructed Charlus to meet him in a hidden passage the boy hadn’t known existed. Thankfully, Peter had provided him with specific instructions as to how said passage could be accessed.

Less thankfully, that hadn’t been Charlus’s only bit of correspondence. He had also been visited by one of the school’s owls. It carried a letter with familiar, looping handwriting. Charlus had immediately recognized the letter as courtesy of the Hogwarts Headmaster. The letter was polite but firm. Charlus would meet with Dumbledore at 3:00 PM in his office. The Gryffindors had Friday afternoons off from classes, so this worked out well on paper. 

Thank Merlin Charlus was going to be able to meet Peter beforehand. Hopefully, he would at least be armed with and ready to provide Dumbledore with an answer more adequate than “I don’t know, sir.”

Charlus came to a sudden halt in front of an odd statue of a one-eyed, hump-backed witch. After glancing around to ensure that he was indeed alone, he removed his wand and tapped the witch’s hump in an oddly significant motion.

“Dissendium.”

Suddenly, Charlus could see exactly which passage his godfather had spoken of and within seconds, he was inside, allowing the Hogwarts end of the said passage to close behind him. He glanced around but didn’t initially spot Peter. That was until a greyish rat on the passage’s floor began to transform as Wormtail, (the affectionately created alias for Peter’s Animagus form) morphed into the DMLE’s current most decorated detective.

“Uncle Pete!” Charlus surged forward and wrapped his arms around the man, burrowing his head into his shoulder as his body began to shake with equal parts terror and relief.

“Hey, sport, calm down, alright. Everything is going to be okay, I promise.” Peter rubbed the boy’s back soothingly until Charlus finally trusted himself to put some distance between them. “Obviously I got your letter, but I want to hear it from you. Tell me again exactly what happened last night. Not just what happened, but how you felt during all of it.”

Charlus told him. He told him about his duel with Katie in the first round and how he had been so proud of the way he’d bested the older girl. He told him about the first round of his duel with Harry. How surprised he’d been at his brother’s prodigious skill and how overwhelmed he’d felt when Harry had begun casting faster than Charlus thought possible for any their age. Then, the interesting part of the story arose, and Charlus explained how his mounting frustration and surging anger had gotten the best of him. He explained how the mere sight of Harry had driven him to fury for reasons he could not entirely articulate beyond the fact that he suspected his brother guilty of attacking his best friend’s twin brothers. 

Finally, he explained how after the first dark spell had been cast, he had completely lost himself to the furious haze of red that had suddenly become his reality, and of the magical happenings that followed. How his wand had connected with Harry’s. How, even after it had broken, he felt some sort of compulsion too powerful to ignore that seemed to dictate he continue the battle with his brother. He even told the man about the odd, green fire Professor Dumbledore had conjured. 

As soon as he spoke of Dumbledore, Charlus’s anxiety mounted once more. “And I have to meet with him, Uncle Pete! At 3:00 PM! Less than three hours from now and I have no idea what to tell him! I did do all of that, the whole school saw me. It’s not like I can lie about it. I did use dark magic and I’ll have to admit it. I’m going to be expelled and I’m afraid I’m going dark.” 

The boy unknowingly made puppy eyes as he looked up at his rather pensive godfather. “Can you help me, Uncle Pete? Am I going dark? Am I going to be expelled? What’s going on? You-you’ve never failed me before, so I thought… I thought I should owl you.”

For a full minute, Peter didn’t answer. After that time had elapsed he closed his eyes and let out a deep, heaving sigh. “You’re not going to be expelled, Charlus,” he assured his godson in a very tired sounding voice. “I… don’t entirely know what’s going on, but I’m going to find out in one moment.” The man paused. “I do have to apologize for one thing though.” He bit his lip. “Two things, actually.”

Charlus looked nervous. “What is it, Uncle Pete?”

“The first is that I have failed you. You just don’t realize it yet.” He hesitated, feeling very real pain rise at the look of shocked confusion that now marred his godson’s face. “The second is for what’s about to happen.”

“Stupefy!”

A sudden flash of red light lit up the otherwise dark passage and with a dull thump, Charlus’s limp body hit the floor.

From a corner where he’d lurked for the entirety of the previous interaction, a figure shimmered into existence as he cancelled his Disillusionment Charm. Of course, there had been a brief shimmer in the air when he moved to stun Charlus, but the vivid red light against the otherwise dark background had almost been blinding to Peter’s eyes, accustomed as they had become to the gloomy lighting of the passage. Because of this, Peter had missed the initial shimmer.

The figure who now marched towards Peter and the fallen Boy-Who-Lived wore a long, grey, hooded cloak. One with a hood that somehow managed to cast his face into shadow, even if you were to look directly through its opening. As he neared the two other occupants of the passageway, the man known as Mr. Bellona reached up and lowered his hood, allowing his golden blond hair to cascade from its prison once more as his blue eyes shone malevolently.

“You’re… sure that you can do this safely, aren’t you?” Peter asked the now unmasked former member of Lady Voldemort’s inner circle.

Evan Rosier smiled thinly at Peter as he knelt in front of Charlus Potter, removing a long, dark wand from his cloak and pressing it gently right in between the boy’s eyes. “Do not doubt me, Pettigrew. If I am not capable of something, I will say it as it is.” Then, he turned his attention back to the stunned Potter in front of him.

“Legilimens.”

Memories and emotions flew through Rosier’s mind at top speed. The boy had no Occlumency measures to speak of, so the process was positively trivial. Within minutes, he’d extracted everything he needed to know from the past number of months and when he next stood to his feet, he wore a very calculating expression. “You misjudged the boy, Pettigrew.”

“I see that even without Legilimency,” Peter said shortly. “I thought he was more like James. I didn’t expect the magic to corrupt him. You did teach him to cast with emotions, right?”

“Of course I did. What neither of us foresaw was the boy actually succeeding whilst handicapped. He did manage Lacero back in August, but I had thought it a one-time occurrence. I was wrong. He has been effectively casting these curses with the catalysts of hatred and fury for the past number of months.”

“So that’s why he snapped on his brother?”

Rosier’s lips twisted into something that indicated he was cruelly amused. “Partially, yes. Though it is deeper than that, I’m afraid. You see, the reason the foolish boy snapped in the presence of his twin was that he was using every negative feeling he had towards said twin as his focus. This meant that in the presence of his brother, his mind was naturally wired to react this way already. Once you learn to cast on hate and fury, your body recognizes that. Once he cast the first spell, the emotion was already conjured. His brain expected more spells to come. This, combined with his shortsighted focal point meant that, in the presence of his brother, he was akin to a boiling cauldron of mishandled Felix Felicis.”

Peter winced. He had been quite good in Potions and mishandling that particular draft would have… explosive consequences. “An… interesting analogy.”

“I thought it quite apt.”

Peter sighed. “I thought he would be more like James and Sirius. I thought that if you didn’t actually show him the most efficient way to cast, he wouldn’t be able to cast it.”

“And you were then hoping, like your group of delinquents, he would become curious enough to delve into the Dark Arts for himself. At which point, he would begin to realize that they are not as terrible as the bigoted zealots around him would have he and his friends believe.”

Peter nodded. “It wouldn’t have brought him into our Mistress’s arms, but it would have been a start at weakening Dumbledore’s hold on him.”

“Fortunately, you admitted even back in the summer that might not work. Which is why we had plan B. Which, in contrast, has played out quite beautifully thus far in ways we could not have possibly foreseen.”

“Has it?”

Rosier’s smile turned predatory. “Oh yes, it has indeed. Charlus Potter has pushed his twin so far over the past number of months that I daresay their relationship may be irrevocably shattered. I suppose it is possible that they could make up once more, but last time, his brother was visibly more reluctant to do so as opposed to last year. Next time, I don’t think he will be so agreeable at all.”

“Which,” Peter continued with a small smile, “hopefully pushes him further towards our cause.” Peter nodded thoughtfully. “So, the question is how do we spin this?”

“I would have thought that to be obvious.”

“Oh?”

“In a way that benefits our new primary objective. After all, the Boy-Who-Lived will doubtlessly be asked where he learned such heinous magic, and it is of no loss to us if his twin no longer resides within Hogwarts. Durmstrang or such other institutions would welcome him despite the offence.”

“And if he does or doesn’t, it isn’t very relevant either way. He’ll blame Charlus for lying through his teeth even if he somehow gets off.”

“Which is only to our benefit.”

Peter sighed. “Just… only mess about with what you have to, please.”

Mr. Bellona’s lips twitched. “Of course, old friend.” His wand once more aimed at Charlus’s forehead.

“Obliviate.”

_**Sometime later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

With the week’s classes in the books, Harry and his friends had retired to the Slytherin common room. Harry had debated doing something more productive with his time, but they didn’t have long before dinner. By the time he really got into whatever project he chose to work on, he would have to abandon it for the time being anyway. Currently, he was sat beside Tracey, watching Blaise and Daphne’s rather tense game of chess while he simultaneously continued carefully practicing the warping and manipulating of emotions. 

So lost he was in the process that he might not have even noticed the common room’s entrance open up and admit a tall figure adorned, as always, in black robes. The only thing that did tip him off was the sudden shift in the common room’s atmosphere. There was something different about their Head of House. He was tense, almost anxious. It was most unlike him.

“Potter, with me, now!”

That tone of voice seemed far too harsh for the situation at hand. To his knowledge, he had done nothing egregious. Nothing even bordering on egregious, as far as he could tell. His friends were shooting him concerned looks but he could only shrug his shoulders in return. The common room’s collective attention was fixed upon him as he walked politely towards Snape and followed the man out of the common room. Though the entrance blocked all sounds both ways, Harry could practically hear the muttering erupt behind them as soon as they made their exit.

His name would be the centre of the Hogwarts rumour mill tonight.

Again.

“Where are we going, sir?” 

Snape did not so much as look back at him. He just continued his brutally brisk pace. The man was in a hurry. “The Headmaster has requested your presence.”

Harry furrowed his brow. This was a meeting he was not looking forward to. Any time he was in a room with Dumbledore, he wanted to kill the old goat. This time, he would at least be able to suppress those emotions and navigate through this encounter with logic and what he hoped would be precision, but he had another disadvantage to contend with.

“Sir,” Harry asked carefully, “do you know why he wants to speak with me?”

For the first time, Snape glanced back at him, though he still didn’t break stride. “He wishes to speak with you about potentially grievous offences you have committed. Offences that are linked to your brother.”

Now, Harry was even more confused. He had never done anything to Charlus. Well, he’d beaten him in a duel if that counted. Or had he? Had the Priori Incantatem rendered the rest of the duel moot? He supposed it hardly mattered. He would have won said duel if it had continued. He also supposed he had already won by disqualification, but Harry didn’t count that.

He wanted to ask more questions, but he could tell that Snape was not in the mood to answer them. So he followed the man up towards the familiar-looking stone gargoyle in silence. 

“Lemon drop.”

The gargoyle leapt aside and before Harry knew it, he was led into the Headmaster’s office. Snape didn’t leave the room. Instead, he stood quite close to the door, gesturing for Harry to take his seat across from Dumbledore. Right before doing just that, Harry clamped down on his Occlumency, hard. He’d read a great deal about Emily’s past philosophies on the art of Active Occlumency. Not that he thought it would do him any good, but Grace had told him to try. At the moment, he was more concerned with maintaining his Passive Occlumency. His emotions could very easily slip out of control during this meeting otherwise.

They still technically could, he supposed. If one got a nasty enough shock, they could easily lose their grip on the grip they held on their emotions, especially as a novice. Obviously, the more practiced one was in a subskill, the more firm their grip on said subskill would be. Even with this in mind, the chances of that unfortunate incident taking place were far lower than they would be otherwise.

“Good afternoon, Master Potter.”

“Good afternoon, Headmaster,” Harry responded politely, forcing his face into one of interest and politeness to match his voice. 

Dumbledore seemed to study him very carefully. “Where is it you were staying during the summer, Harry?”

Harry frowned. “I can’t tell you that, sir.”

“Why is that, exactly? Is there magic in place which prevents you from doing so?”

“No, it just wouldn’t be in my best interests.” 

As soon as he’d said it, Harry knew he had somehow slipped up. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but he knew he had. It was that damn sparkle in Dumbledore’s eyes. His facial expression didn’t change, but that odd light shining behind his glasses gave it away. It was as if he had just won some minor victory, and the fact made Harry intensely uncomfortable.

“That is unfortunate, Harry. I feel that if you could tell me, it would put you in a much better position. As of now, that answer only validates rather… troubling claims made about you earlier today.”

Harry was really sick of being confused. He had to suppress his impatience and annoyance and keep his face blank. “Claims, sir?”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore sat back, seeming to study him very intently. “After the… incident that took place at last night’s meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club, I sought to find myself some answers. I found it peculiar the way your twin reacted during your duel. Very much so, in fact. Just as troubling, I wanted to know where he had learned some of those spells. The latter one he fired, in particular, cannot be found in any books that a child has a right to own.” The last spell was the only one that Harry hadn’t known, so he couldn’t really say one way or the other, but he would take Dumbledore’s word for it. Somehow, he did not like the direction in which this conversation was heading.

“On account of these concerns, I spoke with Charlus earlier today. I wanted to gain some insight into both of these matters.”

“Did you?”

“I did. The results were… troubling.” A brief pause stretched between them before finally, Dumbledore broke the news. “According to Charlus, you and he met up many times over the summer. During these meetings, Charlus seems to be under the belief that the two of you spoke at great lengths regarding rather sensitive topics. One that arose was dark magic. Dark magic that you agreed to show him.”

Harry’s mind blanked. That made no sense. The only time he’d ever met up with Charlus was during the Potter’s gala, and even that hadn’t been voluntary on his part. What the hell was his brother playing at? Was he that certain that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin? Was this his twin’s way of trying to seek justice? To frame him for a crime he didn’t commit?

Harry felt his heart beat faster but ruthlessly forced down all emotions for the time being. He could not lose his head right now. If he did… he was fucked! He would say something implicating and because of the sheer idiocy of magical law, there was actually a chance he could lose a case.

This was bad.

“I never met up with my brother over the summer, Headmaster. The only time I saw him was at the gala on our birthday. I’ve only spoken with him once since our argument last June. He hasn’t been pleased with me ever since.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Harry, you must see how this looks. You have now been implicated in two crimes in the past month and a half. On one hand, we have a vehement account coming from a supposed eye witness. In regards to the other, we have circumstances that seem to implicate you even more directly.”

“I had nothing to do with the Weasley twins.” Harry hated himself for the outburst but couldn’t stop it. He knew that’s where Dumbledore’s mind had ventured and he could not allow that line of thinking to continue much further.

Yes, he could see how bad this looked. Implicated in two crimes, and one could potentially tie into the other if somebody looked deep enough and reached far enough. 

Fuck!

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “Where were you on the night of the Weasley’s disappearance?”

“In my dorm.”

“Are there any who could vouch for this?”

The answer was a resounding no. He had been the last to bed and the first awake. He suspected that Blaise would still vouch for him if the topic arose though.

“Blaise.”

“And, would his memories of the night’s affairs hold up?”

Fuck!

“I didn’t think pensieves were admissible in court, Headmaster.”

“In circumstances where there is enough evidence to directly implicate a party to a major crime, as deemed so by the Wizengamot, a pensieve can be used in a court of law. It is a trying process that involves the verification of the memory’s authenticity and is obscenely expensive, but it is doable. In an instance like this, I am sure the money would be of no issue.”

Okay, this was getting really bad. Now, he had been caught lying if Dumbledore tried to use that memory. If that memory proved Harry was a liar, it was very possible the court wouldn’t even accept any counter memories of his own.

He also wouldn’t be able to fund that process unless his father helped him. Which, in the current instance, was something he wouldn’t bet on.

“There is also this.” Dumbledore opened a drawer and removed a book from inside. For a split second, Harry didn’t recognize it, then realization flashed in his eyes and soul. Only one thought was racing through his mind.

‘I’m fucked!’

The book’s cover read _Descent Into Darkness: A Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts._ It was the same book as one of the two that Pettigrew had given him after the gala. Whether that was a coincidence or not, Harry didn’t know, nor did he much care at the moment. He had more pressing matters on his hands.

“You recognize it, Harry?” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to give away anything he had to. Dumbledore looked tired. “I will be authorizing a search of your possessions if you refrain from answering my question.”

“You can’t!” Harry said at once. “You can’t authorize searches of heirs to families on the Wizengamot.”

Dumbledore looked surprised. “You have adapted well to the world, but I think you need a book that details the exceptions to laws. If the heir or heiress in question is linked to a crime, the Headmaster may request permission from the lord or lady of whatever house the heir belongs to. If they deem the evidence substantial, he or she may authorize a search.”

Oh, he was so fucked! So, undeniably fucked! He was linked to not only one, but two crimes. This book alone in conjunction with Charlus’s story was evidence enough. It wouldn’t matter if he was actually innocent.

And if what Harry had been told about powerful magic was true, this wasn’t good. Naturally, Charlus would have a high probability of casting with emotions if he hadn’t been taught properly, which Harry assumed was exactly what had happened, just as Emily suspected. And if he had just been given books on the topic from his twelve-year-old brother… There was so much logic lined up against him, it was ridiculous. 

Harry could reveal that he had been at Weitts Manor for the summer, but that had a whole myriad of problems attached to it. James could press charges against them, for one thing. It would put them under Dumbledore’s watchful eye. For another. Daphne said he stayed clear of them, but she could always be wrong.

This was not looking good.

“If this search turns up evidence in regards to both or either crime,” Dumbledore said heavily, “I shall have to expel you. After that, it would be up to any other affected parties to press charges if they wished. I’m sorry, Harry, but I must fulfill my duty as Headmaster and look into this matter with diligence.”

Harry’s mind was blank. He couldn’t think. No response would get him out of this. His prior logical thoughts had failed him as the same, horrible fear from last year gripped him. The same, horrible fear that had accompanied him being ambushed by Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn. 

The desk in front of him began to shake as he could feel the air around him begin to churn with some invisible force. His eyes widened and he clamped down hard on his Occlumency. The last thing he wanted was some disastrous incident of accidental magic as a result of his panic in Dumbledore’s office. Wouldn’t that just be the nail in the coffin? The Headmaster looked intrigued but not particularly worried. In fact, his face was almost completely pensive. Once Harry had, with some trouble, pulled his emotions back under control, Dumbledore asked him one final question.

“Before this happens, is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything at all?”

Harry struggled with indecision for only about three seconds before the door slammed open, almost, very nearly hitting his Head of House, who still stood near it. There, in the doorway was a disheveled, panicked and out-of-breath looking James Potter.

Harry could have sworn out loud. 

But then, James Potter spoke the last words he expected to hear out of the man’s mouth, though he spoke them through long, gasping breaths as if he’d run here from afar.

“It’s… not… Harry! He’s innocent!”

Harry’s eyes widened. 

What the fuck was going on today?

_**Earlier that day…** _

James had been in the middle of a very monotonous day of paperwork when the missive had found him. Charlus was being interrogated by the Headmaster. Or at least, he would be very soon. That had disturbed James greatly, specifically after the events he had read about that morning in the Daily Prophet. If there was anybody he trusted to get to the bottom of what had happened though, it was Dumbledore. The man would surely sort it out.

But then, hours later, James had received yet another missive, and this one was even more concerning.

Charlus had apparently confessed that Harry had been teaching him dark magic. There was even a book- the title of which Dumbledore had listed on the missive- which had been sent straight through the man’s floo to the Ministry of Magic. After all, Dumbledore knew how to enchant parchments in the same way that was used to deliver messages each and every day at the Ministry.

James’s heart had pounded out of his chest. He knew this couldn’t be true, he just knew it. He had watched his two sons intently the day of the Potter gala. Harry had been aloof towards Charlus, and Charlus outright cold towards Harry. There was no chance they were on terms that friendly. James couldn’t speak for Harry, but Charlus was not that good of an actor.

There were other inconsistencies, as well. Inconsistencies that, as an Auror, James had been trained for many years to spot.

Like, by example, the fact that Charlus hadn’t taken the parchment to school. If he was learning from Harry, that would have been the perfect way to do it.

No, it wasn’t possible; there were too many inconsistencies. It didn’t add up.

Whether Harry was the Heir of Slytherin or not was another matter altogether. For now, James had to believe it wasn’t true. 

After learning about Harry’s childhood in detail, if he were to be ostracized any further from the Potter family, the bridge would be one that could never be mended. 

James had to fix this.

_**Back in the present...** _

Dumbledore stared at James. If not for Occlumency, Harry would have gaped openly at his father. Seriously, what was going on today? When had his father ever supported him in anything? Let alone against Dumbledore, whom the man had been all too happy to roll over for last June.

“James,” Dumbledore said slowly, “there is evidence to the-“

“Harry never gave Charlus that book.” Now, Harry’s eyes did widen. Thankfully, Dumbledore was too focused on James to notice. It was true, but James didn’t know that. He couldn’t possibly have known that. Which meant, he was willing to lie to Dumbledore.

“I know it may seem hard to believe, James, but don’t you think a search of Harry’s things is warranted? We can never be too sure, after all.”

“You would find it,” James answered. “I gave it to him. I gave it to both of them.”

Harry covertly pinched himself under the desk as he managed to suppress only most of his outright astonishment. If the sharp pain was anything to judge by, he wasn’t dreaming. He still wasn’t entirely convinced of that. James Potter was lying for him! Actually lying to Dumbledore’s face for him!

What the fuck was going on?

Dumbledore frowned. “Charlus seemed to indicate otherwise.”

“Of course he did! I told him to never tell anybody where he got that book. If things went downhill with it, I told him to come up with anything he could. I commanded it as Lord Potter.” James scowled. “I probably should have said anything he could that didn’t falsely implicate a member of the family.” Harry couldn’t believe this. He just couldn’t. It was too much. His brain was going to overload.

Dumbledore stared back at James. Without the search, he wouldn’t have enough evidence to implicate Harry as the Heir of Slytherin. And if James backed him on the incident involving Charlus, there was virtually nothing the Headmaster could do about it.

Harry knew with certainty that Dumbledore knew as well as he did that his father was lying. Yet, he couldn’t call him on it. If he did, that would open a whole other can of political worms that the Chief Warlock clearly wanted to keep closed.

Dumbledore nodded curtly. “Very well, James.” He turned to Harry. “I apologize deeply for my apparently false assumptions, Harry. I trust your brother greatly and therefore take his word very seriously. You have my sincerest apologies for the… incident.” Harry’s heart was still beating a million miles a minute and he did not dare let go of the vice-like grip he had on his emotions but he knew one thing for certain.

James Potter had just bailed him out of potential expulsion from Hogwarts, and he could not be happier or more confused at that moment in time.

__**December 21, 1992  
The Entrance Hall  
10:20 AM**

The remaining days before the holidays were uneventful. Harry spent most of them in his common room, intent on avoiding the intense scorn of the rest of the school. He only left the common room after curfew, when he would sneak down to his room in the dungeons to practice magic, or sneak into the Speaker’s Den to read the multitude of intriguing texts within. He wasn’t actually sure if the room would let him take books outside of its walls and thus far, he had yet to try.

Currently, it was Monday, December twenty-first. In other words, it was the day all of his friends, minus Cassius, the Carrows and Blaise would be returning home for the winter break. Just like last year, it was depressing to watch them all go, but as Blaise put it right before they walked back to the common room, “Think of it this way. You have me this year. And now, at least there aren’t hundreds of students trying to curse you everywhere you go. Now, there will only be a dozen or so.”

_**That night, in a London pub...** _

Vernon Dursley was drunk out of his mind.

He didn’t drink all that often, but when he did, he made those occasions worth it.

This was one such instance. His last day of work had been completed before the holidays, and he was out drinking with a few of the other high-ups from Grunnings. This was even rarer, though it happened on occasion. It had been a stressful last quarter to the year, and all of them were just relieved that it was over.

By the time the night drew near to a close, Vernon found himself alone as he stumbled out of the pub and towards his vehicle. Vernon knew how wrong and irresponsible it was of him to drive home after being so inebriated, but he wasn’t too worried about it. There would be little traffic at this God-forsaken time of night, and he always drove home from these gatherings.

He would be perfectly fine.

That was what he thought until he opened the door to his sparklingly clean vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat with some difficulty. Once that had been accomplished, he realized, to his shock and confusion, that he wasn’t alone.

A feminine figure sat in the passenger's seat, gazing at him impassively. Vernon didn’t recognize her. “Who the ruddy hell are you?” 

Her smile was so cold, it could have frozen fire. The stereotype may have been that a woman should avoid drunk men in the dark at night but suddenly, it was Vernon who somehow felt as if he were the vulnerable one in this situation.

A feeling that only intensified when the figure drew a long, terribly familiar stick of wood from their sleeve.

“Just taking payment for a friend, Mr. Dursley.” In the final moments of his life, the last thing Vernon would remember seeing were bluish-silver eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Since I know somebody will bring it up, Harry was worried about pensieves because he didn’t have a case strong enough to submit a counterpoint, nor did he have the gold to fund the verification process. See my AN at the end of the chapter titled “The God of Irony” for more details about this.**
> 
> **For those who called for the Dursley’s blood… here you go. Whether more will follow remains to be seen on your end. I fully expect some to be unsatisfied, but as Harry has said numerous times, he doesn’t care enough to seek them out himself. Giving them such power over him would be a defeat in and of itself.**
> 
> **One thing I would like to clear up is that I have obviously made conscious changes to Fiendfyre. Very few people will ever learn details about the spell in AoC, let alone how to actually cast it. This is because, if you can’t tell, it’s sort of a big deal in this story. That and the fact that I can’t stand stories where everybody can just idly cast Fiendfyre. Looking at you, JKR; never introduce such a world-breaking weapon and then have an incompetent side character wield it. I know he lost control of it, but that’s hardly the point.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 7th, 2020.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and Sesc for their contributions/corrections this week!**


	22. Bad Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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> 
> **SHAMELESS PLUG: For those of you who enjoy the Percy Jackson series, or just Greek mythology in general, I will be posting the first chapter of a PJO fic in roughly 24 hours time. It is a mostly OC centric series taking the place of the original one, but the canon characters will still be very important. For more information, feel free to read the blog on my website. Just use the link below, scroll down to the “Blogs” header, and click “Fabric of Fate Release Blog”.**
> 
> **I did try and hyperlink it, but AO3 won’t let me, even though the code was perfect, so just use the website link if you’re interested and scroll to the bottom of the home page.**
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_**December 21, 1992  
Greengrass Manor  
7:24 PM** _

With a blur of bluish light, the grand entrance hall of Greengrass Manor lit up for a fraction of a second as the light coalesced into a vibrant, magical tornado that dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. In its place stood a girl, slim and tall for her age, with soft facial features, sapphire blue eyes and honey blonde hair.

Knowing that her mother would ask about it, Daphne reflected on her past number of months at Hogwarts. It didn't take long for her to reach the sudden realization that when comparing how she felt about this semester to how she felt about others in the past, she noticed she'd never experienced what anybody would call a normal semester.

Perhaps her first, but even that was up for debate. Her best friend had almost been expelled. Sure, Slytherin schemes happened every now and then, but that one had been quite extreme, even for the notorious house of cunning. The next semester had been anything but normal, seeing as how it had ended in a mystery she had still yet to unravel. It wasn't as if she had tried very hard to do so, but that was beside the point. She knew Harry well enough to know that if he hadn't yet offered up the information, asking about it would be fruitless.

When thinking about it further, even with those odd occurrences in mind, she thought that this last semester might have been the most outlandish one she had yet endured. Supposedly, a mystical chamber housing a magical monster had been opened. That was debatable, but what was less so were the disappearances of several Hogwarts students. It said a lot about the corrupt, backward nature of the wizarding world that neither the Ministry nor the Wizengamot had intervened. She knew Hogwarts' charter prevented many of their would-be interventions, but surely they could do something if sufficiently motivated.

Of course, sufficient motivation would probably only arise if an heir or heiress to an important family found themselves the next on the mysterious assailant's hit list. Seeing as this was presumably the Heir of Slytherin intent on purging the school of the "unworthy", Daphne didn't think this occurrence to be at all likely. Thus far, all that had happened had been the petrification of a cat, and the disappearance of a muggleborn and two twins who were widely vilified as being from a notorious family of blood traitors.

Not exactly anything for the corrupt body that was the Wizengamot to pitch a fit over. However, she knew her parents would ask about it. She sincerely hoped they didn't honestly expect answers. She knew about as much as they did. Well… aside from the fact that one of her best friends was suspected of playing a part in said attack. Then again, she supposed they might well know that too, thanks to the luridly written articles published in the _Daily Prophet._ That was troubling on a personal level, but not exactly a groundbreaking revelation the likes of which would satisfy her parents.

"Daphne!"

Startled, Daphne looked towards the source of the voice. Astoria was walking towards her. She had grown significantly in the past few months while Daphne had been at Hogwarts. Throughout her life thus far, Astoria had tracked about two or three inches shorter than Daphne when comparing them at the same age. It seemed as if that gap may have closed a bit as of late, for it appeared her growth had become exponential.

Perhaps not just physically, either. Astoria didn't fling herself at Daphne as she had last June. She definitely appeared happy to see her, and the sisters did partake in a rather joyful embrace, but Astoria's movements were far more measured than they had been in the past. Daphne wondered if part of this was because her family had started training her in Occlumency since September.

"I assume Mother is waiting in the sitting room?"

Astoria shook her head. "She's upstairs getting ready. We're going to Weitts Manor tonight for a late dinner. Lord Weitts is going to be in Britain until the new year. They're… going to discuss plans for next summer." 

Her sister's voice sounded a bit faint at the end, and Daphne could not help but feel a tug on the strings of her heart. If she were Astoria, she would be equally apprehensive given her position.

She just hoped that at the end of the undertaking, Astoria would not only be spared from the rather morbid fate that had been viewed as inevitable for many years but that she would actually be healthy and able to live her life as one of her station was supposed to.

"It's going to work out, Astoria," said Daphne, rubbing her sister's back soothingly. "They've been planning this for years. They wouldn't be doing it if they weren't sure, and there's nobody better to be carrying it out."

Astoria centred herself with a deep, nervous breath. "I know, it's just… it's scary. Especially when nobody has ever tried anything like this before."

"I know. Trust me, I do. We're all worried, but we've been worried for years. There might be a bit of risk involved, but we have to try something. I couldn't live with myself if we didn't, and neither could Mother or Father."

Astoria nodded meekly and Daphne sighed deeply. "Well, I should probably go and clean up before we have to be at Weitts Manor." She also added "prepare" to her internal to-do list. If they would be at Weitts Manor, that just meant more sets of eyes. Particularly in the presence of Lord Giaus Weitts. The adults would inevitably press the younger witches as to the happenings the past number of months at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, so Daphne needed to ready herself for the occasion.

_**Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…** _

By the time Charlus finished explaining how his brother had exposed him to the Dark Arts and how his godfather had explained exactly how that had led to improper instruction which, in turn, had led to Charlus's outrageous outburst at the duelling club meeting, Ron and Hermione were practically speechless. By the time he had finished explaining how, even after this had been brought up to Dumbledore, Harry had gotten off completely scot-free, they were shocked, livid, and resolute.

"There's only one thing I don't understand," Hermione asked nervously. "Why did you wait until now to bring this up if it all happened months ago?"

Charlus stiffened. "I… I didn't want to admit that I'd been looking into the Dark Arts. He… he made them sound so tempting. I couldn't help myself." He hung his head in shame.

"Not your fault, mate," Ron assured him. "He tricked you. That's what Slytherins are good at." His best friend dawned a rather out-of-character expression, one that seemed far too vicious for his young, otherwise innocent face. "Bet he won't like it as much when we trick him back and get him expelled like he should be."

"I agree," Hermione seconded. "This just means that it's even more important the Polyjuice plan goes off well. We can't have somebody that clever catching wind of what we're doing. And he's clearly dangerous in more ways than we even realized."

Charlus nodded stoically, a hard look in his hazel eyes. "We won't fail, Hermione. I'll make sure of that."

_**At the same moment, in the Headmaster's office…** _

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his oak polished desk, tapping his long fingers anxiously upon its well-varnished surface. It had been a long four days ever since the conclusion of the Hogwarts Duelling Club's first meeting. Not only had Chaos Magic raged in the centre of the school, but the political fallout had been more chaotic than the turbulent magic that had swirled malevolently through the hall. The destruction that had taken place on that night had manifested itself in a magical phenomenon. As stressful as it had been in the moment, no actual long-term damage had been done.

Aside from the damage done to Charlus Potter's reputation. The damage done there would likely prove itself to be longer-lasting and harder to reverse. But Dumbledore knew he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. As long as they came out on the favourable side of that situation, his reputation would inevitably be salvaged.

The events of the next day were not as easily repaired.

According to Charlus, his brother was deeply involved in the Dark Arts. Involved enough to encourage Charlus himself to follow him down said path, at the very least. His stories had been rock-solid. Dumbledore hadn't seen any gaps when Charlus had told him, and it lined up disturbingly well with the ever-mounting evidence pointing to Harry Potter being the Heir of Slytherin.

But the plot had thickened.

James had intervened and effectively negated Albus's ability to order a search of the Potter Heir's things. It wasn't as if he was just going to expel him on principle. It would depend on what the search turned up. At least this way, they might have conclusively known one way or the other where Harry Potter stood regarding the ever-present conflict between the light and the dark.

Most disturbingly still was that James Potter had gone out of his way to lie, just to get his son out of harm's way.

That did not sit well with Albus.

James never lied to him. If he was choosing to do so now, he had a very good reason. He suspected that it had something to do with Lord Potter's desire to ingratiate himself to his eldest son, hopefully re-integrating the boy back into the Potter family in the process. Dumbledore knew this to be a fruitless pursuit. He'd known ever since observing Harry Potter at the gala this past summer that such a thing wouldn't be possible anymore. At least, not without forced intervention.

He suspected that there was more to James's decision. Perhaps he had learned something that Albus himself wasn't aware of. A detail that caused forming a positive relationship with his son and heir to quickly rise in his list of priorities.

He just wondered what that thing could have been.

James had been researching the Potter family's lineage but, as he had said when bursting into his office, it had turned up empty.

Was it as simple as that? James thought Harry innocent because the Potters had no known blood connection to Slytherin?

Albus wished it was that simple. Perhaps it was. He wasn't certain that wasn't the case, but he more than had his doubts.

He was at least confident that the Chamber of Secrets had indeed been opened, just as it had fifty years ago. He suspected the culprit was the same, in one capacity or another. The problem was finding out the supposed capacity, and he could only think of one way that could have been accomplished.

Well, two ways, depending on how certain magics had reacted on Halloween night in 1981. One of the twin's presences was accounted for that night, however, whereas the other wasn't. The most recent attack was also troublingly close to being directly connected to Harry Potter.

And the knowledge of the Dark Arts…

He sensed a presence nearing his office door before he could finish that thought. "Enter," he called. The door opened, and a tall man in black robes stepped inside, looking as impassive as ever. "Ah yes, Severus. I have been expecting a visit from you for some time now."

"Four days, I would suspect," the man said dryly, earning a rather knowing smile in return from the ancient Headmaster. Snape took his seat across from Dumbledore and studied him impassively. Dumbledore felt no brush of Legilimency; he knew Severus would never use the skill against him, but it did feel as if the man were trying to bore through his eyes and look into his inner soul.

After making his Potions Master wait for a time, Dumbledore thought it best to begin the meeting in earnest. "Well, which question would you like to lead with?"

"What is it that happened when the Potter twins duelled? I have never seen such an occurrence before."

"I would not have expected you to," Dumbledore said a bit darkly. "What you and the rest of the school witnessed is called Priori Incantatem. In some ways, it is similar to the reverse spell effect, hence the similarities in name, but it did not progress far enough for said similarities to show."

"Because the connection was broken?"

"Indeed. If it had been allowed to continue, one of the twin's wands would have been forced to display the last number of spells it had cast. Unlike Priori Incantato, this is not limited. The spells would have kept flowing until the connection was broken. Breaking the connection would have been easy at that point." Dumbledore frowned. "How did you manage to break the connection prematurely? I can think of only a few spells that would have done it, and I am sure you used none of them."

"A spell of my own creation," Snape said curtly. "It is designed to combat inherently magical things, so it had no troubles in severing the very magic itself."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Quite ingenious, a spell with those capabilities." When all Dumbledore received in return was a curt nod, he decided to push the conversation along. 

"Without getting into detail, the magic that manifested itself in Priori Incantatem very strongly wanted a resolution. It was intent on forcing the Potter twins to decide a true victor in the least destructive, yet most decisive way possible. When you robbed it of that opportunity, it took issue."

Snape looked pensive. "You speak of the magic as if it was alive."

"Alive is a rather abstract term that we humans have personalized a great deal over the millennia. It was certainly sentient. Some say that magic is a living, breathing force. While that is debatable, its sentience is not. I am unsure of what the magic would have coalesced into had I not intervened, but I am sure that in part, it would have sought to force the Potter twins to continue their confrontation."

"I have still never seen magic like this before."

"Nor will you again, I hope. You saw this form of magic in its most innocent incarnation. It is far more heinous when controlled by those who would wish to abuse it, few as those sorcerers may be throughout history. It is the most evil of magics, Severus. I do not wish to speak on it any further."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Can you at least tell me why the effect manifested in the first place? Is it a case of the brothers being twins?"

"It is the wands, I believe. Any myths of the occurrence have been linked to twin cores."

Snape's face was suddenly even more unreadable. "The Potters have twin cores?"

"It certainly appears so, yes. I admit I didn't know of that until now. I am aware of Charlus's wand composition, but I cannot say the same for his brother. I suppose now, I do at least know the identity of the core."

"Which is?"

"Phoenix tail feather."

Snape wasn't nearly as surprised as he probably should have been by that. It was by far the rarest core on the planet. There were very few known phoenixes. Even fewer who were willing to part with their tail feathers. And good luck taking one from an unwilling bird. Yet Harry Potter, from all he had seen, was a once in a generation prodigy. His brother most certainly wasn't, but he was talented in the wanded subjects, at least. He was also the vanquisher of the Dark Lady, so that surely counted for something.

"And the magic you used to disperse the threat?"

Dumbledore's eyes darkened. "I do not wish to speak of it," he said firmly. "It is magic of a similar nature to Priori Incantatem, magic that I do not dare speak the name of. Suffice to say it is a far more sinister incarnation, one that I am ashamed to know of at all."

Snape could sense he would get nothing more out of Dumbledore. "And Charlus Potter is a Parselmouth?"

"It appears that way, yes."

"Any awe-inspiring insights on how that could have happened? As far as I know, the Potters share no relation to Slytherin."

"Not that we know of, at least," Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. That really was the question, wasn't it? "I have several theories on the matter, one, in particular, that is fairly dominant, but we will have to see how events unfold in the future if I am to be sure."

Snape nodded. "Does it mean the other Potter can also speak to snakes?"

"Potentially, but not necessarily. My lead theory certainly wouldn't necessitate his brother having the ability." He paused. "Seeing how many of the unsavoury things happening around the castle as of late seem to point towards him, it is still certainly a possibility."

"You actually think him the Heir of Slytherin?"

Dumbledore chuckled darkly. "Harry Potter? No, I do not. Not in the slightest.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yet you speak of the boy with such suspicion?"

"If you would have asked me whether or not I thought young Harry could be doing the bidding of the Heir of Slytherin, I would have been far less certain of my answer."

"But he would need to be a Parselmouth?"

Dumbledore seemed to think about that. "Perhaps," he muttered, sounding more as if he were talking to himself than Snape. The Potions Master scowled. Getting a straight answer out of Albus Dumbledore was like trying to steal eggs from the den of a dragon. Completely and utterly pointless.

"So you truly think Competent Potter is in one way or another responsible for the incidents?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I do wish you would not distinguish the twins in such a childish manner."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I hardly think you are in a position to speak on that matter after the events of last school year, Dumbledore."

Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "True, true. I am not certain Harry is responsible, though I do very much wish James would have granted me the privilege to run a search of the boy's things. I believe it would have given us at least a small degree of clarity on the matter." The Headmaster pierced Snape with his blue-eyed stare. "I would like you to watch him for me."

Snape scoffed. "The boy is not related to the Heir of Slytherin incident," he said bluntly.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Perhaps not, but my request does not change."

"Very well," Snape agreed with a fair bit of exasperation.

"If nothing else, I certainly think there is something to the claims Charlus made to me last Friday."

Snape had been informed of these already, having personally escorted Potter to his interrogation, but he still doubted the validity of Charlus Potter’s accusations. "I will watch him."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Severus. For that, I am most appreciative."

_**An hour or so later, at Weitts Manor…** _

"Grandfather!"

Giaus Weitts looked tiredly up from his open tome that was resting on his lap and smiled softly at the sight of his youngest granddaughter, a warm expression on her face as she walked towards him. Giaus swept gracefully to his feet, allowing the girl a brief hug before taking his seat once more. He moved with grace and precision in spite of his age. Not quickly. He had lost much of his natural athleticism years ago, but his movements weren't exactly limited either. Nor was his mind. His hair may have whitened over time, but his eyes still held just as much sharp intelligence within them as they always had.

"Greetings, Charlotte. How has Hogwarts treated you thus far?"

Charlotte beamed. "It's been great, Grandfather!"

He nodded with satisfaction. "As long as you are enjoying it and it is furthering you as a sorceress."

His own daughter, Adriana, had gone to Durmstrang, just as he had before her. Adriana and his son-in-law had opted to send their two daughters to Hogwarts. He hadn't objected, even though he abhorred the idea of them being under Albus Dumbledore's crooked nose.

Then again, he knew things about Dumbledore that others didn't. His opinion of the man wasn't unbiased. He was well and completely cognizant of that fact.

"And Grace," he said when the family's heiress entered the room. Seeing as he was the lord, many would assume Adriana would be the heiress. On most occasions, she would have been. She was technically the Lady Weitts at the moment, since Giaus himself had never married, and Adriana's mother hadn't stuck around for very long. Hence, Grace was the heiress, even if she likely wouldn't take up the helm of the family for many years to come.

Sigmund was the Regent, and he handled most things pertaining to business, including sitting on their Wizengamot seat. Giaus could have done it, but he just couldn't be bothered anymore. He had given up on it years ago. Since the death of the man whom he considered a surrogate son, he had lost all interest in dealing within the borders of Magical Britain.

"Hello, Grandfather," Grace greeted respectfully. "How have you been?"

"The same as ever," Lord Weitts said with a slight curve of his lips. "Little has changed for me over the year I have been away. That is why I am far more interested in the two of you." 

As the Weitts family waited for the Greengrass's arrival, Grace and Charlotte regaled their grandfather with stories from their semester at Hogwarts.

Charlotte made no mention of the incident involving Mulciber, Jugson, an illegal potion and a cursed dagger; and Grace made no mention of teaching a prodigious second-year student how to fight and defend his mind. Harry did come up in Charlotte's tales, though.

"What do you think of him, my dear?" Giaus asked Charlotte, peering at her with genuine curiosity.

"I like him," she said at once. "He's probably my best friend outside of Daphne. I spend a lot of time with Laine Slater as well, but I get on more naturally with Harry."

"What is he like?"

She thought about that. "A bit quiet until you get to know him, but he's brilliant. Once you actually get close to him, he's witty, helpful, and extremely protective of his friends."

"All exceptional qualities."

They also spoke briefly on the Chamber of Secrets. "I am afraid I can offer no insight," Giaus told his youngest granddaughter, who was looking at him with unmasked hope. "I have read the same myths about Slytherin that you have heard of, but nothing beyond them."

"Harry was found at the scene of one of the attacks, was he not?" Sigmund asked.

"Harry's not the Heir of Slytherin," Charlotte said vehemently.

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Adriana answered with a small smile. "I certainly didn't peg him as the type to go around attacking muggleborns. He seemed far too low key. What I think your father meant was whether he had any insight into the matter?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Most of the school, idiots, the lot of them, think he's guilty, but he couldn't seem to care any less. He's pretty much avoided the whole thing."

The small talk continued for some time before the Greengrass family entered the manor, and the dinner itself began in earnest. All three elder members of the Weitts family inquired after each of the Greengrasses. Daphne and Astoria spent much of their time talking to Charlotte, while Grace divided her time between the two conversations, with about two-thirds of it being diverted to the adults.

When the meal concluded, the adults all stood to exit the room. They had important business to discuss. Charlotte didn't know exactly what it was, but she knew it pertained to Astoria in one way or another. Sitting closest to the man, Charlotte practically leapt out of her chair to pull out her grandfather's and ease the man's rise.

He smiled down at her fondly. "Your kindness is appreciated, if not completely necessary. I am not yet broken, merely a bit battered by time."

"Grandfather," Charlotte asked, her eyes flitting from the old man in front of her to the retreating figures of the other adults.

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart said to pass along his greetings and… to thank him for your last conversation. He said it helped save his life."

Charlotte had never seen anybody look as old as her grandfather did in the seconds after she relayed Lockhart's message. Giaus closed his eyes and didn't speak for nearly twenty seconds. When he finally did, his voice was heavy, tired and significant.

"Pass along my formal thanks to your professor. Tell him that I am very proud of what he has made of himself, and tell him that I know his father would be even more so if he were here to see him now."

Charlotte nodded. "I'm sorry if it brought up any bad memories-"

"It is nothing for you to concern yourself over. The memories still hurt very much, but it was a long time ago now. Just do pay the man the respect he deserves. His father was one of the greatest men I ever knew."

"Yes, Grandfather." Charlotte seemed to hesitate. "Do you think he knows Legilimency?"

"Why is it you ask?"

"He…" she hesitated.

"I am not going to be upset by any reply, Charlotte. I am simply curious."

"He thinks Harry is the Heir of Slytherin. Harry is worried he might try and breach his mind."

"Ah," Giaus paused to think about that. "I think it possible, but not likely. I am sure he knows of it, just as his father did, but like his father, I doubt he ever pursued learning the art itself." Charlotte nodded. "Has your prodigious friend not yet begun instruction in Occlumency?"

"He has. It's hard to tell for sure, but I think he's improving fast. I don't know how though. I have no idea who's teaching him."

"Well, you can set his mind at ease, for I very much doubt the son of Sigmund Lockhart will be making attempts to breach his mind. Now, I must be off, my dear. We have very sensitive business to discuss."

"Grandfather?"

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Is-is whatever you're planning dangerous? Is Astoria going to be okay?"

Giaus smiled softly down at Charlotte. "It is dangerous in the sense that it is unheard of, but don't worry yourself. Your friend will be perfectly safe. I may have lost some things with age, but my mastery over the beautiful art of magic remains as strong as ever. I shall personally be here to ensure nothing goes wrong."

Charlotte nodded as the man swept from the room. Mastery of magic was one of the things her family sought above all else. And with the past the Weitts family had, they had mastered more of it than perhaps any other family in Britain.

After all, that was to be expected from a family whose motto roughly translated to Sorceries be Power.

__**December 22, 1992**  
The Headmaster's Office  
9:30 AM 

This really hadn't been Harry's week. There had been the duelling club fiasco, to start, not to mention the attempted frame job by his absolute dickhead of a brother. On top of that, this was about to be the second time in a week that he was sat face to face with Albus Dumbledore. In Harry's opinion, that alone rendered the entire week a failure in his books.

Thankfully, he’d learned to suppress his emotions before that first meeting. Not only would he have inevitably lost his cool and made a complete arse of himself, but he had been fantasizing an awful lot since last June about strangling Dumbledore with his own beard. As beautiful as those images were to play on repeat in his mind, he doubted attempting to make them a reality would end particularly well.

As the gargoyle stepped aside and Harry ascended the stairs leading to Dumbledore's office, all he wanted was balance. Whatever force ruled over his misfortune had decided he had to meet with the old codger twice in a week. He just hoped that in return, that same force allowed this meeting to be short and far less dramatic than the last.

He scowled in disdain as Dumbledore called for him to enter before he had even touched the doorknob and stepped inside. As he eyed the man neutrally, sitting serenely behind his ancient oak desk, Harry wondered whether the Headmaster even realized that oddly ominous habit of his was rude.

"Ah, yes, Harry. Do have a seat, please. I will try not to take up too much of your time, but I have one or two things I would like to cover."

Harry just hoped it had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. That was never going to be a pleasant conversation. Not that it would be much better if what Dumbledore wanted to discuss pertained to the accusations levelled upon him by his brother. If it wouldn't have made him look even more guilty, Harry would have already decimated the tosser in some out of the way corridor. It would serve him right.

That entire matter was still concerning. Who had actually managed to convince Charlus to lie about him and how had they done it? His brother was a lot of things. Even though Harry knew Charlus thought he was guilty, he didn't believe his twin would frame him for something else. Pursue a manner in which he could expose Harry if he was the true culprit? Absolutely. But for him to just outright accuse Harry was something that both twins knew was complete and utter bollocks. If Charlus was anything, it was honourable and noble. Neither of those traits lined up well with framing your brother for crimes that he never committed.

"You don't trust me." It wasn't a question. Dumbledore spoke in a soft voice, but it was evidently being modulated.

"Not even a little bit." Harry saw no reason to lie. The man clearly knew it. He was also pretty sure the Headmaster had seen straight through his father's lies in defence of him. If it was out in the open already, there was no need to make it a secret.

Dumbledore nodded. "I suppose I cannot blame you, given your circumstances."

Harry snorted. "You mean how you shipped me off to people who hated me not once, but twice."

Dumbledore frowned. "A bit crude, but not entirely inaccurate, I suppose."

"Exactly accurate, Headmaster."

Dumbledore seemed to ignore that last sentence altogether, which Harry thought to be a wise decision on his part. "Given your feelings towards me, I think it best if I reciprocate your openness with honesty of my own. I frankly don't trust you either, Harry. There is too much about you that screams danger. You are connected to too many suspicious events which seem to tie into even more dastardly schemes."

"My father cleared me of the last thing you accused me of, sir."

"Legally, he did do just that. You will forgive me if I do not entirely buy into what your father was saying. Between the two of us, I have become exceptionally good at reading people and situations."

"Can I speak openly, Headmaster? Can I point out one of the reasons why I don't like nor trust you other than the obvious?" Dumbledore actually looked intrigued and nodded. "You are ridiculously overconfident. You think you're more clever than you actually are. I'm not saying you're not a genius, but being a genius and being clever isn't the same thing. I'm guessing you thought my relatives weren't going to be as bad as they were. You were so sure of this, yet it backfired in your face. Last year, I'm sure you thought there was no way Voldemort would ever get the stone, but she almost did and would have if I hadn't shown up.

"And now you think I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Or you think I'm connected to it somehow. Not only are you wrong on that, but what makes it even worse is that the reason you think this is because of what my brother told you. Which is nothing but lies. You've misread my brother, then you've taken what he told you and misread another situation."

Dumbledore actually seemed to ponder this. "You make several valid points," the old man conceded. "I believe the last two to be half-truths at best, outright lies at worst, but I will take your initial points into consideration in the future." Harry knew he wouldn't. He almost said so. He and the Headmaster seemed to be engaged in a no-holds-barred conversation in which nothing was off-limits. But he decided not to. He had better things to do than partaking in verbal sparring with the chief warlock, and he really wanted to be out of this office as soon as possible.

"That's your opinion, Headmaster. It's wrong, but it's what you think. Just don't say I didn't tell you so when this is all over." Dumbledore didn't rise to his challenge. "Was there anything else you wanted, sir?"

"I wanted to warn you, Harry. If it is you who is opening the Chamber of Secrets, I advise you to stop now, even if I see that admitting to your potential crimes is clearly something you would be unwilling to do. If you are caught later, after openly denying the fact, the results will not be favourable. And rest assured, the perpetrator will be apprehended."

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. "If I ever work out how to open the Chamber of Secrets, I'll keep that in mind." He paused. "I did have something to tell you while I was here, sir."

"Oh?"

"I'll be using my rights as the heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House to leave the castle at around noon. I'll be heading into Hogsmeade, and flooing to Diagon Alley. I'll return sometime later tonight."

Despite his obvious fondness for lemon drops, Dumbledore suddenly looked as if he had swallowed a particularly sour one. He was clearly displeased. If he suspected Harry as being behind the disappearances, he could see why. Not that Harry particularly cared what Dumbledore thought. He had ruined his life and hadn't exactly shown a great deal of remorse for it during this conversation.

For an insane moment, Harry debated throwing a one-liner in his face about the existence of the prophecy; the one that Voldemort had referred to down in the catacombs at the end of last year. As satisfying as it would doubtlessly be to see the shocked look of incredulity that would inevitably blossom on the Headmaster's aged face, he thought that to be a perilous course of action that almost certainly wasn't worth the potential repercussions.

"Very well." Dumbledore did a stellar job of hiding how annoyed the fact obviously made him, especially when his next words were hardly a choice. It wasn't as if he could refuse Harry. "You are aware, of course, that a return to the castle is mandatory by curfew?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded with a frown. "I worry for you, Harry. I do not approve of the path I believe you to be going down. You are a magical talent the likes of which I have not seen in many years. Please, I beg of you not to squander that beautiful talent by going down a dark path like others who have come before you."

Harry met Dumbledore stare with his own, hard gaze, making one last point before promptly but politely making his exit. "There is no such thing as light and dark, sir. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

He had cut the part about good and evil because at the moment, he doubted it would have gone over at all well.

The last thing Harry saw before leaving the office was Dumbledore's mask crack as a modicum of concern made itself obvious on his otherwise impassive visage. It obviously put him off greatly that Harry was paraphrasing, if not completely quoting Emeric the Evil.

_**That afternoon, at the Greengrass's law firm…** _

Harry didn't trust Dumbledore. Not even a little bit. He could have done the normal thing and walked down to Hogsmeade, but paranoia had insisted he act with more caution. He'd snuck out of the school using the passage that was concealed by the humped back, one-eyed witch on the third floor. After sneaking into the cellar of Honeydukes, it had been all too easy to slide into the Three Broomsticks, pay a measly sum of gold, and vanish into the green flames, only to appear thirty or so seconds later in the Leaky Cauldron. The hardest thing about the journey had been finding the law firm, but it hadn't taken him terribly long.

The lobby was as well-furnished as one would expect when dealing with a place owned by one of the richest pureblood families in the country. The receptionist took Harry's name, checked her register, and confirmed that he did indeed have an appointment booked with his solicitor. Once this had been established, he was led down several hallways and into yet another tastefully-furnished room. This one was obviously an office, and Harry took a comfortable seat on one side of a dark, oak desk.

On the other side of said desk sat the woman whom he assumed to be his solicitor. She was slim and had a pale complexion along with sharp features, dark eyes and jet black hair that fell to around her shoulder blades. When he took his seat, she studied him rather intently for some time before speaking. "I'll admit, I don't usually get clients this young."

Harry shrugged. "First time for everything, I suppose."

"I was surprised when I was signed with you this summer. I was wondering when I might see you. Regardless of your age, I am contractually obligated to assist you." She leaned forward, obviously interested in what the young, estranged Potter Heir could possibly ask for. "So, Heir Potter, what is it I can do for you today?"

Harry reached into a pocket of the travelling cloak he'd worn to the meeting and withdrew a carrying case which he'd ordered by owl.

He placed the plain black case down on Veronica Tate's desk, prompting the woman in question to look at him inquisitively. "I'm assuming whatever is in this has something to do with why you're here?"

"I'm actually here for a couple of things, but this has to do with one of them, yes." Tate gestured as if asking permission to open the box and Harry nodded, prompting her to do just that.

When it had been opened, her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to assume this is a special dagger of some sort?"

"You can't reveal anything I tell you, right? Solicitor's oath of confidentiality and all that."

"Correct."

"Even if it's potentially incriminating?" This seemed to pique Tate's interest, but her only response was a curt nod. "I'm not positive, but I think this dagger was a Mulciber family heirloom of some sort. Let's just say I got into a fight with the family's heir and I ended up with the dagger." Tate indicated she was following along, so Harry continued. "I have a few questions. First of all, is this legal for me to have? Like… is it illegal that I took it from the Mulciber family? Am I going to be forced to give it back to them if anyone finds out I have it?"

"You almost definitely don't have any obligation to give it back to them. I have a feeling this dagger isn't legal to own in general, so they wouldn't have disclosed it to the Ministry. As long as it's not covered under a family charter, you should have no troubles because of that. If it were covered under a charter, the family would have almost certainly released a public statement by now. One that demanded the artifact be returned to them."

He hadn't been sure about the specifics, let alone the parts about family charters, but he had been reasonably sure from his own research on the topic that he was well within his right to forcibly take the dagger. It could technically be classified as theft, but that charge would fly straight out the window as soon as the offences of those whom he stole from came to light, so he was sure it was a charge that would never be levelled against him.

"Okay then, do you have any idea how much this might be worth?"

Contrary to many people put in a similar position, Tate didn't even bat an eye. Apparently, being asked complex legal questions by a twelve-year-old, followed by an expressed desire to learn the estimated value of a dark artifact by the same twelve-year-old wasn't enough to faze her.

"I have no idea. That would depend on a lot of things. I would need to have the blade formally examined. Both to figure out what enchantments might be on it, plus to learn as much as possible about its history." She leaned forward once more. "Is this something you'd like to have done?"

"How much is that going to cost me?" Harry asked carefully.

Tate's lips twitched as if she were fighting back a smile. "It's not a cheap process, but it won't cost you anything."

He blinked. "What?"

"In the contract you signed, it expressly stated that the Greengrass family were to handle any and all legal fees associated with you."

Clearly, Harry needed to get better at reading contracts. All he had taken from the offending documentation was that his base legal fees were covered. This made the whole process much easier, especially when considering his other, and altogether more pressing reason for being here.

"Have that done then, please. Can you owl me as soon as it's done? I'd like to talk about it more once we have actual information." She nodded, and this time, it was his turn to lean forward with a gleam in his eye as they came to the other business that had brought him here. The business that he had planned to attend to for months now.

_**That night, at Malfoy Manor…** _

Needless to say, the altogether more pressing business had been more complicated as well. As in — a lot more complicated. The two of them had spent several hours discussing the intricacies and complexities of Harry's presented situation and the scenarios that were likely to arise from his desire. Tate had thought his plan viable with some alterations in the end, so it had been a productive day, all things considered.

Thus far, at least. He still had one major bit of business to attend to that day. 

Standing in an out of the way alley off of Diagon, Harry eyed the eagle feather quill in his hand. He had never used a portkey before, even though he did of course know what they were. This would be his first time experiencing them, and he very much hoped not to be reduced to a vomiting mess upon his arrival for a meeting that he was quite sure would be very serious in nature.

Hoping for the best, Harry glanced down at the portkey and repeated the activation phrase, one he had needed to practice several times in the past few days to ensure he could pronounce clearly and consistently.

"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."

Harry did indeed find his first portkey experience to be less than pleasant. Mercifully, it wasn't so disconcerting that he vomited on landing in an overly ostentatious entrance hall that he knew belonged to Malfoy Manor.

The hall had a much darker look than Weitts Manor, which was well lit by a fair share of magical lighting and its white marble aesthetic. The floor in Malfoy Manor, at least in this room, was done in a dark, rich-looking wood. Soft, pale drapings obscured what Harry pictured to be large, glass windows on either side of a somewhat circular staircase that converged in the centre of a balcony on the next floor, which overlooked the entrance hall itself. The pale, cream curtains cast a soft, yet ominous light across the otherwise lowly lit hall. In the relative darkness, the staircase's railings, which were made of what appeared to be pure gold, glinted sinisterly, if such a thing was at all possible for such rich material.

Beneath the staircase, there was a life-sized portrait depicting the current three members of the Malfoy family, noses upturned, heads held high and surrounded by a gilded, ornate frame.

With a pop, the most nervous-looking house-elf Harry had ever seen materialized in front of him. It took him a moment to realize why the creature looked as if it would turn and bolt at any moment. He recognized its tennis ball-like eyes and his own set widened.

Dobby belonged to the Malfoys.

"M-Master Lucius is waiting for Harry Potter up in his study, sir." It was readily apparent that Dobby was terrified. Terrified that Harry would expose him to Lucius there and then.

The thing was, Dobby didn't think like a Slytherin.

The benefits of exposing him were negligible. Harry very much doubted the elf would be making any more attempts at "keeping him safe" any time soon. Plus, what would he really gain from exposing Dobby's misdoings? The elf would be punished, he was sure, but Harry couldn't honestly say he cared much one way or the other. A lesser mind may have exposed him in hopes of getting information out of the interaction, but Harry didn't doubt that any valuable information the elf possessed would be getting no further than the ear of its master.

All of that was true, but it wasn't the primary reason Harry had no intention of exposing the creature. That reason was the fact that obviously, Dobby overheard rather sensitive, potentially important information. He was more likely to gain said information if Dobby slipped up around him in the future. He may not have thought any more interventions from the elf were likely, but he still thought their probability to be higher than that of Lucius Malfoy spilling sensitive information.

There would be no world in which that happened — at least none where the Malfoy patriarch did so voluntarily.

Harry followed the house-elf up to the second floor, noticing that the railings of the balcony were also made of gold. It was perhaps the most Malfoy thing he had ever seen. It was needless, over the top, and blatantly extravagant to the point of being openly braggadocious.

If their heir was anything to go by, it seemed a fairly apt assessment of the family as a whole.

Harry just had to keep in mind that tonight, he wasn't dealing with Draco Malfoy. He was dealing with his father: a political mastermind, economic titan and prominent figure, who was once suspected of being a Death Eater.

A much more dangerous man than his son would likely ever be.

Harry was admitted into the room and took a seat across from Lord Malfoy. He had to admit, as dangerous as this man may have been, it felt rather nice sitting across from an older man, with a well-polished desk in between the two of them and not wanting to strangle the person on the other side. He thought this said a lot about Albus Dumbledore. He was the supposed Lord of the Light, yet Harry was far less wary of one of the Conservative co-leaders, despite the faction's more than shady reputation.

"Heir Potter." Lucius's voice might as well have been silk for how soft and smooth it was. Every syllable was spoken with well-practiced precision.

"Lord Malfoy. Thank you for welcoming me into your home."

"I think it was inevitable that it was going to happen at some point, or so I would like to think. Certain matters simply… expedited the process, and here we are. I am happy to have you, Heir Potter, and I do hope we can reach an agreement of sorts."

That sounded fairly ominous, but Harry chose not to comment. 

Instead, he gazed back at Lucius Malfoy with a completely blank expression. "What would you like to discuss, sir?"

Lucius leant back in his chair. "To put it bluntly, Heir Potter, you are the future of your family. For now, the Potters rest firmly in the Liberal camp, as they have for generations. Due to your… unique position, I see a possibility of that not being the case when you one day take your lordship. That may be many years away, but a skillful politician is always looking to expand their circle and form new, strong alliances."

Harry tilted his head. "You're trying to recruit me?"

Lucius smiled thinly. "Certainly not directly. It is far too early for that, I am afraid. So much is still unknown about you. To openly begin recruiting you would be unwise with so much mystery surrounding you. Indirectly, I suppose you could say I am doing something of the sort." He suddenly looked more business-like, and Harry knew that whatever was to come next was the real reason he'd been invited to Malfoy Manor.

"Just as you will one day ascend to the helm of your family, the same could be said for Draco." Lucius seemed to observe him carefully, but Harry gave away nothing by offering a visible reaction. If this perturbed Lucius, he didn't show it. "As much as the time for that may still be very far away, foundations are important. It is essential to build them early. As I have looked deeper and deeper into the events at Hogwarts since you and my son started attending the September before last, I've concluded that your relationship has been far more… antagonistic than I would have liked."

Harry might have worried over such an ominous statement had they not been in Malfoy's home. It was true he had the position of power, but to actually do anything morally questionable would be very foolish on his part. Most of all because currently, Blaise had the letter Lord Malfoy had sent to him inviting Harry to the manor. His solicitor also knew he was here. 

He’d toyed with the idea of requesting that Lord Malfoy permit her to join him, but he had eventually decided against it. For one thing, he highly doubted the man would have accepted that condition. For another, it really wasn't that difficult to just agree to nothing today, go see his solicitor before the end of the break and provide her with his memories of the occasion. The Greengrass law firm was armed with a pensieve, after all.

When it became clear that the man sitting in front of him was awaiting a reply, Harry gave the most neutral one he could come up with on the spot. "We've had our disagreements, yes."

Lucius smiled thinly once more. "There's no need to worry, Heir Potter. I have spoken to Draco at length over the past twenty-four or so hours about your relationship. I've concluded that it is, for the most part, my son's foolishness which has sparked the animosity between you."

This surprised Harry, and that evidently showed, for Lucius suddenly looked particularly amused. "Oh, you technically acted first by maneuvering him into the duel against your twin. However, I can admire the cunning. My son blatantly implied how unimportant he thought you were at the welcoming feast. It was an obvious attempt to pollute any political foundations you might have tried to build, and it was about as subtle as a Bludgeoning Hex."

Lucius drummed his fingers rhythmically upon his desk's surface. "Then, the situation was escalated by Draco's attempt at framing your friend, Miss Davis. By this point, I would say the two of you were even, but my son sought to take it a step further with the dragon fiasco. I was more than a little bit cross to pay your father that gold, but in truth, it was my son's ineptitude that annoyed me most.

"This year, he has repeatedly failed to get the hints you have sent his way, hints which are less subtle than even his initial ploy against you." He fixed Harry with a cold, grey-eyed stare. "I do not support your attack of my son in the common room. If it happens again, I will be much more interested in taking action. However, he was forewarned and suffered the consequences.

"All of this is to say that your relationship has been less than ideal. As standing Lord of House Malfoy, the duty of repairing the damage done by my heir falls upon my shoulders. That is what I called this meeting for, Heir Potter. I would like to mend the damage my heir has done in potentially securing an alliance much further down the road. I am unsure of exactly how to do this, but it is something I would like to do as soon as possible. If you have any ideas on how this might be accomplished, I'm all ears. If you need to think about the matter and get back to me at a later date, that is also perfectly acceptable."

Whatever Harry had expected, this wasn't it.

Much like he had done with Tate earlier that day, he leaned forwards. He wouldn't agree to anything today, and there were compensations he was sure Tate could help him acquire, but he had some ideas to get things started with.

_**Later that night, at the Royal London Hospital…** _

It was late, and all was quiet in one of London's premier hospitals. The patients were asleep, much of the staff was at home, and those still present were quietly going about their obliged business.

In one, specific hallway somewhere within the hospital in question, nobody was present at all, and there was no sound whatsoever that would be discernible to the human ears.

That wasn't to say there was none at all.

If somebody had superhuman hearing, they might have been able to pick up the sound of a small, grey rodent moving quickly down the hall, not stopping until it reached a specific door. The rat just stood there and surveyed the door, frantically sniffing all the while. If one was watching, they might think that the rat in question was actually doing reconnaissance, like they were some well-disguised spy from some overdramatized movie. Of course, a person would only think this if they were extremely short on common sense. Rats couldn't do the same level of reconnaissance as a human.

Not normal rats, anyway.

This rat was far from normal, as was made evident when it suddenly wasn't a rat at all. 

In its place stood a short man with watery blue eyes and sharp features who withdrew a long stick of wood from the pocket of what appeared to be a robe and pointed it at the door he now stood before.

"Alohomora."

The lock clicked and Peter Pettigrew pushed the door open, stepping inside quietly, wand at the ready.

There was nobody inside.

Nobody alive, anyway.

There was a large cooler that dominated most of the room. One that was clearly locked from the outside. Peter knew that without magic, he would have no chance of ever unlocking it unless he had a very specific key.

Thankfully, he was not without magic.

"Alohomora."

The cooler unlocked with as much ease as the door. Peter locked and warded the latter with several waves of his wand before making his way towards the former. He knew, from the intel he'd gathered, that there was a body he was very interested in examining locked within that cooler.

The body of one Vernon Dursley.

Pettigrew very much suspected foul play, but there was only one way to find out.

Sometime later, after ensuring the muggles wouldn’t detect his presence at a later date, he was back outside the hospital, standing on the streets of London as he pondered what to do next.

It had indeed been the Killing Curse that had slain the eldest Dursley. That much had been obvious. Despite doing his utmost to gather clues, Peter hadn't managed to gain any ideas as to who might have been responsible for killing the man.

Which meant Peter had some loose ends which very badly needed to be tied up.

It would be utterly disastrous if certain individuals who were obviously interested in the situation realized that, many years earlier, Peter had placed several compulsions on the two elder Dursleys. Compulsions which would lead them to be particularly cruel to their then one-year-old nephew.

Yes, that would be very bad indeed. Peter couldn't allow that possibility to come to fruition. With a thoughtful expression and the swishing of a cloak, Peter Pettigrew vanished into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Since I know this will come up and there was no good way to address it in this chapter, let me answer this before I get a dozen or so reviews on it, stating that I overlooked something.**
> 
> **Why didn’t Dumbledore find Peter’s compulsions on the Dursleys? The memory charm is a wonderful thing. If you remember correctly, he didn’t dig as deep as he could have into the Dursleys’ minds. He specified that he could have broken the Memory Charms placed on them by the Greengrasses, but he chose not to because the process would be… unpleasant. The same is true of Peter’s Memory Charm. The difference is that Dumbledore never even noticed because he was so focused on the most recent one. If he had broken that, he would have noticed the second one immediately.**
> 
> **In other news, the next audiobook chapter is now up on YouTube! It was posted on Spotify and Apple Music earlier this week! The link can be found on my profile, and I encourage you all to check it out.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and neilabh for their contributions/corrections this week!**
> 
> **An additional shoutout is extended to Wakefan from my Discord server for the chapter title, as voted on by my Discord members. Thank you to any and all who voted in the poll!**


	23. Party Crashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**December 23, 1992  
A Gas Station on the Way to Surrey  
8:45 AM** _

Marjorie Dursley had perhaps been having the worst holiday season she could ever remember. Not that she had ever really liked the holidays. In her opinion, they were a pathetic excuse for massive, corrupt corporations to become even wealthier, and for parents to spoil their insufferable children, most of whom didn’t deserve half of what they inevitably would be receiving in just two days’ time. 

The fact that her mother had died during the holidays whilst she and Vernon had been teens hadn’t helped her develop positive feelings for the holiday.

Yet this season truly took the cake.

She’d never gotten on particularly well with her mother anyway, truth be told. Vernon, on the other hand, had been somebody who she had gotten on very well with since they were children. Marge Dursley did not cry. She was a strong, independent woman who would never dream of doing anything so undignifying. But when the tragic news of Vernon’s sudden passing had reached her… well, her eyes may have been a bit watery.

Now she was on her way to Surrey to meet up with her favourite- and only- nephew and his mother, Petunia. This had been planned for months. She came to Privet Drive every few Christmases, and had for years. She may have despised most children, but not Dudley. He had been raised well in her opinion, and he was a lovely boy who she couldn’t help but spoil, at least a little bit. What hadn’t been pre-planned was that now, while at Privet Drive, she would be attending Vernon’s funeral, to be held sometime in the next week or two.

Currently, she was stopped for gas. It was a fairly long drive to Surrey, after all. She would normally have taken the train, but with Vernon dead and Petunia not having a license, it was really just easier to drive. Of course, she could take a cab from the station to Privet Drive, but lowering herself to such standards wasn’t something she would be caught dead doing.

All of that was to say that while stopped at this gas station off the main highway, Marge had wanted to grab herself some snacks for the way, and she’d taken a quick break to use the facilities while in the process. 

This was all normal.

What wasn’t so normal was what happened next. 

As she exited the building and headed back out towards her vehicle, she couldn’t help but notice she was being tailed by a grey rat. In the middle of the bleeding winter, nonetheless. She tried to shoo it away, but it was having none of it. She climbed quickly into her vehicle, but the blasted thing followed her in before she could close the heavy door. 

Marge didn’t scream, as she considered it beneath her to do so, but she did make a few wild swings for the thing before it scampered up into the passenger’s seat. Before she could swing again, her jaw nearly became detached from her face, as shock pulled it forcefully towards the floor. 

Suddenly sitting beside her wasn’t a rat at all, but an average-looking man with watery blue eyes. What was weirder was that, before she could get a word in, the man had an odd piece of wood pointed at her. And then, he said one, strange word, and Marge suddenly thought no more.

“Imperio!”

_**Forty-five minutes later, in the Headmaster’s office...** _

Yesterday, Harry had thought his luck to be absolutely miserable. Having to deal with Dumbledore twice in a week had been bad enough. Now, exactly a day later, Harry was wondering what he had done wrong in life to deserve two meetings with the Hogwarts Headmaster in twenty-four hours, let alone three in the past week. Seriously, there were few places on earth Harry wanted to be less than here, let alone with such a high degree of frequency.

He wondered, as he ascended the familiar spiral staircase once more, what it was that Dumbledore wanted with him this time. The previous day, the meeting had been set up so that the man could press Harry in regards to the Chamber of Secrets. It had actually turned into a shockingly candid and open conversation between the two of them, but it had still been a warning of sorts. Similar to the one that Lockhart had issued about a month ago, if a bit more subtle.

As far as Harry was aware, he hadn’t done anything in the past twenty-four hours that would be worthy of Dumbledore’s attention. Well, that wasn’t true; he’d done several things that the man would doubtlessly be more than a little bit interested in. He’d done nothing in the past day that Dumbledore knew about that would be of interest to the man. The difference was that the things he had done of interest, Dumbledore was blissfully unaware of, hence this meeting couldn’t have anything to do with them.

So it had to be something else from the past, and Harry couldn’t fathom why the man would demand his presence. Unless the old twat really was just that bored. Perhaps he realized exactly how much his presence grated on Harry and wanted to amuse himself by being a sadist. Harry personally didn’t think it his style, but he wouldn’t put it past him either.

When he entered the office, he knew immediately that wasn’t the case. The air was heavy with tension. Not as serious as the day Dumbledore had tried to authorize a search of his belongings, but heavy in a different sort of way. This meeting was clearly significant, but Harry was just yet to realize exactly how that was the case.

“Good morning, Harry.”

“Headmaster.”

“Do you have an idea why I may have called you to my office this morning?” Dumbledore’s lips twitched. “I am sure the fact grates on you, more so considering the relatively short amount of time since our last meeting.”

Yes, Harry certainly would consider twenty-four hours a relatively short amount of time. This man and his damn understatements. “No, sir. Not unless you want to talk about the same things as we did yesterday, but I think both of us realize that would be a pointless conversation.”

Dumbledore dipped his head in agreement. “It would be, yes. I am a rather busy man, and I did not call you into my office simply for the sake of annoying you. I may openly not trust you, but I do not outright dislike you, Harry. Even if I did, I would like to think of myself as a citizen of rather high moral standing, and above such petty actions.” 

Harry’s eye twitched, but he made no move to comment. What was the admittedly naive cliche his teachers had always preached in primary school? Treat others how you wanted to be treated? No, that wasn’t right. If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all — yes, that was it.

Dumbledore obviously realized Harry’s lack of patience, for he decided to break the news quickly and cease his mindless meandering around the point. “There has been a rather significant development which involves you at least indirectly.”

Harry didn’t so much as bat an eye. Of course there was. His year of staying low key really had not been going to plan thus far. “Which is?” 

“Last night, an acquaintance of mine discovered something rather… troubling. Something that I was not aware of prior to that point.” 

Dumbledore glanced at him intently, and Harry knew he was watching for any minute reaction. Whatever he was about to say next wasn’t going to be anything Harry could logically dismiss, and the old man was watching him like a hawk, trying to glean any slip-up the young Slytherin may make. Harry reinforced the control he now had over his emotions. Said slip-up wasn’t going to happen, no matter what Dumbledore chose to reveal next. 

“Last night,” he began, “I was informed that your uncle, Vernon Dursley, was found dead in his car.” 

Silence rang through the room. As he had promised himself, Harry’s face gave away nothing, aside from perhaps a minor widening of his eyes. Internally, his mind was reeling. There was a lot to digest in that loaded statement. How Vernon had died was the most obvious. He was certainly overweight and he wasn’t the healthiest man alive, but as far as Harry knew, there was nothing life-threatening in play that might have posed him any problems.

Above all else, Harry had absolutely no idea how he felt about that. It circled back to his problem, that being that he was completely inept with emotions of any kind. He certainly had no love for Vernon Dursley. He wouldn’t be crying over his corpse, nor would he have attended his funeral- if hell had frozen over and he had somehow been invited, that is. Yet, he didn’t think he’d celebrate his Uncle's death, either. 

The man was a horrible person, Harry was sure of that. No decent human being abused a child. Especially not in the way Vernon had done, even going as far as to encourage his own son, Dudley, to join in on the “fun”. 

Maybe he should have felt compassion for his cousin. It hadn’t really been Dudley’s fault, after all. He’d acted exactly how he had been raised to. He was nothing more than a byproduct of his parents. Rationally, Harry knew that, yet he couldn’t will himself to feel empathy for Dudley nor Petunia Dursley. He didn’t forgive them for anything, even if he had long ago decided he wouldn’t be making their downfall a priority. What he had told Daphne over a year ago still very much held true.

He had let go of any emotions pertaining to that family a very long time ago. He didn’t care what happened to them, one way or another. 

He internalized all of this very quickly with the help of Occlumency and came to the realization that the fact hadn’t changed. The truth of the matter was the news meant nothing to him. He was never going back to Privet Drive. Steps had been taken to ensure it wouldn’t have happened anyway. He had no connection whatsoever to Vernon. They weren’t even technically related by blood. He didn’t care about the other two members of the Dursley family either, despite the fact that, in some capacity, his blood ran in their veins, and vice versa. 

“I’m… not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that, sir,” Harry answered after a time.

Dumbledore looked pensive. “You don’t seem particularly upset.”

Harry just stared back at him hollowly. “I’m not going to pretend I’m something that I’m not, Headmaster. I’m not happy he’s dead, but I don’t really care much either.”

“The fact does not discomfort you? He was family, after all.”

“He was no family of mine.” It was a significant statement that was further exacerbated by the rather dark tone Harry used to state the sentence. “Nobody who treats me like that man did is family.” There was a long pause. “Surely you don’t think I’m responsible for this too?”

“I very highly doubt it,” Dumbledore admitted. “It is very possible that somebody may have acted on your behalf, whether they did so with or without you knowing I could not say. What troubles me more than anything is your lack of a reaction.”

“He made my life a living hell. I could show you the scars if you really wanted.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I believe you, Harry. I did my own investigations into the matter. That does not change the fact that he was your family.” Dumbledore took a long pause. “Do you know what, above all else, makes me uneasy when thinking about you?”

Against his better judgement, Harry suddenly found himself intensely interested in how Dumbledore might answer that question. “I have no idea, sir.”

“You remind me of another very strongly. They too were a prodigy among prodigies and had many accolades to their name at an early age. Their father died the summer between their fifth and sixth year, and the fact had as little effect on them as the death of Vernon Dursley had on you.”

“I’m taking it you didn’t like this person very much.”

“This person grew into the monster that would one day terrorize Britain.”

Harry’s eyes widened despite all attempts to keep his expression neutral. “Voldemort? That’s who you’re talking about?”

Dumbledore raised a brow at the usage of the Dark Lady’s name, but he didn’t comment on it. “Incidentally, I am, yes.”

“You think I’m going to become the next Voldemort just because we had the same reaction to a somewhat similar event?”

“I do not think you are going to become the next Voldemort. That is not what I said, nor will the words ever leave my lips. I am simply making an interesting comparison to show why I am mildly distrustful of you, among other reasons. On its own, the fact wouldn’t be nearly enough, but compounded with other things, it does make an old man think.” 

He fixed Harry with his blue-eyed stare. “And there is far more about you that reminds me of Lady Voldemort than your lack of empathy towards those of your own family. It would simply be unwise to inform you of these things, less you begin hiding them to the best of your abilities. Least of all now, when you are rapidly progressing as an Occlumens. I do congratulate you on your progress, despite any suspicions I may hold towards you, by the way. It is an impressive achievement for one so young to progress through the art, let alone at the rate I believe you to be improving at.” As he gestured to end the meeting, he got one final word in as Harry made for the door, nothing left to say to the old man who seemed to be set in his ways. 

"Another comparison between the two of you, in fact…”

_**Later that day, at Number 4, Privet Drive…** _

When Marge arrived at Privet Drive that night, the atmosphere was far more somber than anything Dudley Dursley had ever experienced. His father had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and the boy wasn’t taking it well.

Neither was his mother, which was why he had persistently asked to be allowed to stay over at a friend’s. He’d been denied, primarily because Aunt Marge was coming over that night. She had indeed arrived, but Dudley couldn’t help but think something was… off about her. 

Perhaps it was just the death of his father, her brother, that had thrown her off-kilter, but she didn’t fawn over him the way she would normally do. Nor did she drink herself stupid the first night at dinner. That was particularly unfortunate, for that was usually when Dudley managed to convince her to make rather bold, rather expensive promises.

Hell, she had even convinced his mother to send him off to bed early!

Dudley had no idea what the hell was going on, but he didn’t like it! Not even a little bit.

_**Meanwhile, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

“I had honestly wondered if you’d forgotten about this place,” Blaise remarked as the two of them took the chairs nearest the ostentatious throne situated at the head of the table.

Harry snorted. “How could I have ever forgotten about this place? Let’s just ignore my memory altogether.”

Blaise shrugged. “It’s been a while. We haven’t used it once this year.”

“That’s because I think Weitts knows about it.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“I have no idea, which is sort of the problem. She shouldn’t be able to know the password or get in, but who knows. It’s Weitts; I wouldn’t put it past her.” He’d actually been forced to change the password earlier that day before he could let Blaise in. He’d changed it to Parseltongue some time ago, but he could hardly hiss in front of one of his friends. That would draw questions and a lot of attention.

“So that’s why you’ve been avoiding it, is it? We did see her lurking around the entrance, but we thought she might have just picked up on some sort of magic.”

“I don’t think she knows exactly what’s here,” Harry mused. “The only time she hinted at it, she mentioned something along the lines of a hidden place. I think she knows there’s some kind of room here. Best I can tell, she hasn’t worked out a way to get in yet.”

Blaise looked thoughtful. “Is it possible for her to get in without the password? Or any other entrances?”

“No clue to both of those. If there are other entrances, I haven’t found them, but that doesn’t mean much. I haven’t explored the dungeons at all this year, really.” 

He suddenly realized what a lapse that was on his part. Truthfully, he hadn’t done much exploring at all since returning to the castle in September, despite knowing there was still much of the dungeons to uncover. They stretched deeper than the room he practiced in with Grace, and that wasn’t even mentioning the five or so branching corridors on the way that he had thus far ignored completely.

“She might not even need another entrance,” Blaise said reasonably. “I have no idea about the kind of wards that are on this place, but do you think she could maybe break them.”

“I doubt it,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Any room that could force anybody inside of it to keep a secret, just because somebody says so, must have some very powerful magic attached to it. That and if the books have anything to say on the matter, this place is warded to the teeth. They don’t think any Headmaster or Headmistress who wasn’t a Slytherin has ever found it. At least not at the time most of them were left here.”

“Are these all journals or something?” Blaise gestured towards the shelves that surrounded the two

“A bit of everything. It seems like it was tradition for everybody who found this place to leave at least one book behind. Some left textbooks, some left journals, some left family tomes. I haven’t read most of them yet. Just the more interesting stuff that I can actually understand.”

Blaise nodded. “Alright, the possibility of being discovered seems like a decent reason to ignore this place for the year. I assume you’ll be using it more next year when Weitts is gone?”

“Probably. I’ve still been using it a bit. I have the ring, it’s not that hard for me to sneak in here using that.”

“But harder to sneak others in with you.”

“Exactly.”

Blaise nodded. “We might have to find a way around that at some point. Anyway, was there anything specific you dragged me in here for? I doubt you’d have bothered if you just wanted to play chess.”

“Beat you at chess, you mean?’

Blaise just rolled his eyes.

The two of them smirked at each other before Harry took on a more serious look. “Dumbledore thinks I’m the one opening the Chamber of Secrets.”

Blaise whistled. “Yup, that’s a pretty good reason for meeting in private.”

“I thought so.”

“You are just blessed with the most desirable luck in the world, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t give it up for anything.”

Blaise leaned back languidly in his seat. Harry thought his Italian friend may be the most talented person he knew at conveying superiority through posture alone. Daphne and Charlotte were both quite good at it, but Blaise was really something else altogether. 

“Is he actually going to do anything about it?” 

Harry scowled. “Are you ready for this to get even more complicated?”

Blaise’s lips twitched. “Naturally.”

“Apparently, Charlus gave him some long story about how I’d been convincing him to learn dark magic, so it was obviously all my fault when he went about it the wrong way, which led to him snapping at the Duelling Club meeting. The bastard even damn near got me for owning an illegal book.”

Blaise looked thoughtful once more. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, was it deliberate?”

“Of course it was! I never taught the git anything.”

“I meant the book. Trying to frame you for it.”

“Oh… it must have been. He gave a specific title and everything. Said I had a copy and gave one to him as well. The first part is actually true, even if the second part is rubbish.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “Well then, there is a very important question you need to ask yourself. I have no idea how you haven’t come to this already.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way. You’re an absolute genius, but you miss some very obvious things sometimes. I think it’s because you always look for the most complicated solution to things, but sometimes, it’s actually right in front of you the entire time.”

Reflecting on some of the more obvious things he’d missed while at Hogwarts- his brother being a Parselmouth, in particular- Harry thought that statement may have had some weight to it. “Okay, you’re probably right, but what exactly am I missing, oh wise one?”

“Have you ever asked yourself how the hell your brother knew you had that book?”

Harry actually smacked a hand to his forehead, muttering obscenities under his breath- and amusing his friend to no end in the process. “I am such an idiot!”

“No, you’re a genius who suffers from the same thing a lot of geniuses do. You overlook the simple, obvious facts because you’re more worried about looking deeper into everything.” Blaise paused. “So, do you have any idea how your brother could have even known you had that book?”

Harry had an idea, but wasn’t sure about the logistics. Pettigrew knew he had the book. To his knowledge, Pettigrew was the only one who knew he had the book. If he’d given Charlus the same one, it wouldn’t be too difficult to set up the ploy. But again, the issue of Charlus’s nobility muddied the waters. Harry blocked out all else with Occlumency as he focused hard on the situation at hand, examining it from every conceivable angle. As much as his twin obviously detested him, Harry thought him too morally rigid to outright frame him. 

Unless…

His eyes widened as a horrible possibility made itself present in his mind. “Whatever you just came up with,” Blaise said dryly, “it is not going to be pleasant, is it?”

“Pettigrew,” Harry muttered, his mind still trying to put everything together.

Blaise now looked even more intrigued. “He’s a friend of your father’s, isn’t he? Detective for the DMLE, or something?”

“As far as I know, yeah, but it’s the first one that might be important.”

“Oh?”

“The only person who knows I had that book was Pettigrew. He was the one who gave it to me after the gala on my birthday. If he gave Charlus a copy, he could have set something up, but I doubt Charlus would have gone along with it.”

“So you think he did something to him? Altered his memories, or used the Imperius Curse, or blackmailed him, or something else?”

“I can’t think of any other way this makes sense.” It annoyed him greatly that the solution he’d come to seemed so extreme. Yet it was the only thing that would have worked. “The thing I don’t get though is why. I mean, I’ve always gotten a weird feeling around Pettigrew, but this? This is a major thing to just go ahead and do. If he was going to do something like this, he would have needed a very good reason, right?”

“You would certainly think so,” Blaise agreed thoughtfully. “Getting you expelled from Hogwarts doesn’t really seem like a big enough prize though, does it?”

“Not on its own,” Harry mused thoughtfully. “But… if he could get me for a major offense…” His eyes widened once more. “Oh… fuck!” Blaise looked at him attentively, obviously awaiting exposition on whatever Harry had just deduced. 

“When all of that happened, plus the whole thing with the twins and my brother being outed as a Parselmouth, Dumbledore thought I was the heir. He was going to have my belongings searched and everything, try and find evidence.”

“You think Pettigrew might have been trying to frame you as the Heir of Slytherin?”

“It’s possible. He would at least have gotten me busted for everything in my trunk I’m not supposed to own.” 

Harry actually wondered how that would have worked. Nobody would have been able to enter his trunk, seeing as it was protected by a Parseltongue password. Though he supposed Aurors or Cursebreakers could have bypassed the wards. 

“But why?” Blaise asked. “I mean, yes, it makes sense, but I still don’t see a motive. If he’s friends with your father, why would he want you expelled from Hogwarts?”

Harry could only think of one answer, and the very thought of it caused his stomach to contract and his pulse to quicken. “If I’m charged with a major offence, I can be disowned from the Potter family.”

Now, Blaise’s eyes widened. “And this whole Chamber of Secrets business would have a pretty good chance of being classed as a major offence.”

Suddenly, a jarring possibility made itself known, and Harry had to maintain a firm grip on his Occlumency to not let emotion show on his face. He did trust Blaise, and he had told him a great deal tonight, but this… Harry wasn’t sure about this.

“I… don’t know.”

Harry didn’t think he’d fooled Blaise, but his friend didn’t press. He knew Harry was a private person, and he had learned far more than he’d likely expected to that night.

“Do keep me informed if you come to any other realizations.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “Do you mind if I make sure none of this leaves the room?”

Blaise shook his head. “You would be an idiot not to,” he said bluntly. “Does it work with information that’s already been shared?

“If the books I read about it last year are right, then I think so. Don’t ask me how that works, because I have no idea.”

Blaise scratched his head. “I have no idea either, but whatever it is, it is ridiculously illegal.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not even a little bit. Go on, my friend.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I, Harry James Potter, rising member of Salazar’s noble house, hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar’s Sanction upon the Speaker’s Den. As magic is my witness.” 

Both Harry and Blaise felt the magics settle in, and Harry felt the stress he hadn’t even realized he’d been experiencing lift.

That conversation had escalated much further than he had planned, but by Merlin it had been productive.

Terrifying in its implications, but productive nonetheless.

_**That night, back at Privet Drive...** _

Petunia Dursley was not a heavy sleeper. In her waking hours, she enjoyed few things more than eavesdropping on just about anybody possible. This meant that she was constantly alert and on edge at pretty much all times. This extended to her sleeping hours as well, which meant she was usually awoken fairly easily in the middle of the night.

Sometime about twenty-four hours before the calendar would officially declare it Christmas Day in England, this was proven true when the slight creek of her bedroom door opening unexpectedly caused Petunia to stir, even if only a little.

Not that being awake was any advantage. Nor that it would save her, even if she were far more cognitive than she was at present.

Petunia knew very quickly that something was wrong, even before she noticed the figure moving swiftly towards her. She tried to get up but wasn’t fast enough. She was grabbed and easily wrestled back down into the bed, effortlessly pinned flat to its surface by the much larger figure who was now atop her, staring down with familiar eyes.

“Marge?” Petunia gasped, unable to comprehend what was happening. She struggled, but it was to no avail. Petunia may have been tall, but she was very thin, and only about half the size of the woman who currently had her pinned her down. A woman who, with her immense size, likely would have given most men a run for their money.

Marge didn’t answer Petunia’s plea. Nor did she even truly hear it. She had only one thought, one objective to accomplish, and she quickly sought to do just that.

To the horror of Petunia, pinned helplessly underneath her, Marge wrapped her large, purple hands tightly around Petunia’s throat. Her stranglehold on the dying woman was so tight that her son, Dudley, never heard a thing. He would simply awake the next morning, on Christmas eve, no less, to find himself not only without a father, but without a mother as well.

If Marge thought her holiday season had been miserable, then Dudley’s had been truly catastrophic.

_**December 25, 1992  
The Slytherin Common Room  
7:00 AM** _

As had been the case last year, Harry and Cassius awaited the Carrow twins in the common room near the fire. The only difference was that this year, Blaise joined them, as did Ginny. As the four of them made idle chit chat while they waited for their older set of female friends, Harry wondered exactly how Cassius, who would normally be described rather generously as a zombie on most mornings, managed to be so chipper on Christmas.

Perhaps the day truly was magical.

Eventually, the Carrow twins did enter the room, and the group collectively dug into their piles of presents.

Harry first opened the number of tokenry gifts from most of his classmates. This year, the Slytherin Quidditch team all sent him presents as well, which was a welcome surprise. He knew he should have expected that. The problem was, when one was trained to expect the worst for ten out of their twelve years of life, doing anything but that was a rather difficult habit to break. 

The highlight of these gifts was a rather stunning watch of pure gold from the Malfoy family, one that seemed far too expensive for their current situation. At least if one didn’t consider the ongoing negotiations between Harry and Lucius. 

Once he was through that pile, Harry got to the more interesting of his gifts.

Pansy sent Harry a frankly absurd number of well-designed, rather expensive looking wizarding clothes. Evidently, she had realized his wardrobe wasn’t exactly expansive and according to Hestia, the Parkinsons owned stakes in several major fashion companies. Speaking of the Carrows, they had once more come together on a gift. They’d purchased him a number of runestones, something Harry was rather impressed with since they also weren’t cheap.

“You’ve been studying runes for months now,” Flora had pointed out. “If you’re not ready to use these yet, you better be soon.”

“But don’t set permanent ones,” Hestia advised. “If you set permanent wards inside of Hogwarts, Dumbledore will be alerted, since he’s master of the wards.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “How does that work? Why do temporary wards not show up?”

“Because temporary wards don’t have to co-exist with the Hogwarts ones for a definite period of time,” Hestia explained. “Permanent ones do, so they’re viewed as a disruption. Not because they actually affect the Hogwarts wards in most cases, because they don’t. It’s just sort of a built-in protection. Some of the more well-warded manors in the country probably have something similar.”

Harry glanced meaningfully from Hestia to Blaise. He wanted to ask a question, but Blaise technically wasn’t privy to the information. Hestia shrugged. “If you trust him, go ahead. If he goes and runs his mouth, it’s on you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Blaise promised with an upward twitch of his lips.

“Didn’t you and Calypso set up permanent wards in the room we’re training in? You even needed my blood.”

“That… is an exception,” Hestia said carefully. “Let’s just say we had a lot of help from Calypso’s dad and leave it at that. There is… a very obscure weakness that her dad knew of and helped us to exploit. I doubt any Hogwarts student could have done it.” She hesitated. “Except maybe Weitts. I’m not sure what level she’s at, but she might have been able to, even though she definitely wouldn’t have known about the weakness to exploit it in the first place.”

That was rather cryptic, but interesting nonetheless.

The next gift he opened was Daphne’s and he couldn’t help but quirk a brow. “Hestia?” he asked carefully.

“Yes?” 

“Any magic involving blood is illegal, right?”

“Very. It’s an entire branch of magic literally called Blood Magic. The entire practice has been banned outright.” She paused. “Except for signing magical contracts in blood. That’s just sort of deemed as necessary, so they overlook it.”

Yes, so this was definitely illegal.

It was a journal- not unlike the one that Voldemort had given him and which he mostly used to communicate with Emily. Though that was true, he only used the first page for that. All of the other pages could be used for notes, and more would add themselves as needed.

This notebook also had that function, though it required blood to open after Harry keyed it to his own.

Basically, nobody could get into it if they weren’t him.

He looked at the note and had to fight down a blush as sudden warmth rushed into his chest.

_Harry,  
Like I told you after Samhain, you are a genius. I’ve seen you looking into Arithmancy and Runes. One day, I know you’re going to start creating your own spells. You’re too curious and clever not to. I also have no doubt those spells will be amazing. I know you though. You like your secrets; you’re a very private person and don’t trust easily. _

_That thought was what made me think of this as a gift, but it can be used for anything. Mind you, you need a drop of blood to open it every time, so maybe don’t use it for everything, but I thought it might come in handy._

_Happy Christmas!  
Daphne_

Wow… that could be useful, even though he had the book from Voldemort, though Daphne didn’t know that. He wondered idly whether that one had protections on it as well. Certainly nothing like this, but it had been Voldemort who’d enchanted it. Weakened by a less than ideal form or not, Harry would have expected something similar on her book. Perhaps hers had just been so subtle he hadn’t even realized it existed.

After a few more gifts that weren’t quite as notable from various friends, Harry opened Blaise’s to find a rather glorious set of duelling robes. Also not a cheap purchase. “Cheers, mate!”

Blaise smiled knowingly. “I thought you might enjoy them.”

Daphne had obviously told her parents he was interested in Runes. They had sent him several obscure books on the topic, plus top of the line carving equipment. 

Some temporary wards, like the one Harry used to detect if anyone was drawing near, could simply be traced out in the air and willed into action through magic. This only worked for the most basic of wards though, and they would only last for a very limited amount of time unless re-cast. If one wanted to cast more complex wards that were either permanent or longer-lasting, they would actually need to carve them into place.

Runestones would also be needed if they wanted to be made permanent, but he just so happened to have some of those as well now.

Where he would practice that, he had no idea. Hogwarts apparently didn’t work, and he very much doubted the Weitts family- or whomever he ended up with in the summer- would let him practice setting permanent wards.

Speaking of, the Weitts family had sent him a rather advanced book on Transfiguration. It seemed above his level at the moment, but the note attached encouraged him to give it a try and have patience. It promised results. Knowing the family that it had come from, Harry would tentatively take their word for it and do just that. Charlotte had gone a similar route, though the book she sent was on Arithmancy. He suspected both books to be from the Weitts family library. Not family magic, but still rather humbling nevertheless that they would trust him with anything out of their collection. It caused the same feeling of warmth from earlier to resurface once more.

With two gifts left, Harry reached for the nearest one. It was from Calypso, and it too was quite obviously a book. He had expected a spellbook. That was her style. What he saw instead intrigued and impressed him far more. The book actually seemed quite new, and it was written in an elegant script. Harry had a feeling it was a Rosier family book. Perhaps a copy of one, but still…

It apparently outlined, contrasted, and analyzed the fighting styles of history’s most prominent magic users.

This… this was priceless, and Harry could hardly believe Calypso would send him anything like this. He wondered whether or not her father was aware that she had, but eventually decided that he really didn’t want to know.

Yet as amazing as her gift was, his final one topped it.

A splendid, golden chain uncoiled from the package and Harry almost gasped at its beauty. It was made mostly of gold, but a silver serpent was embroidered on the pendent, and its eyes, which stood out vividly, were clearly made from diamonds.

But its beauty wasn’t what entranced him. 

That would be the note attached to it.

_Harry,  
This isn’t just because I still feel guilty over the horrible Legilimency accident, but I do still feel like I owe you for that._

_We should be more than even after this, I think._

_This chain is enchanted with a one of a kind spell that is very secretive Weitts family magic. I can’t really explain how it works or how to cast it because of that, but I will explain what it does._

_You will use a drop of your blood to activate its password feature, and then you will choose a password._

_From that point on, the password will trigger an effect. When given, the chain will unleash an impenetrable darkness spell similar to Peruvian instant darkness powder. The darkness is complete and basically impenetrable, but you and only you will be able to see through it as if it wasn’t there at all._

_You do need to have time to speak the password, so mid duel would be a bit tricky, but after being in your mind, I know better than anybody how you feel about being helpless. I felt like I owed you, and I hope this helps you avoid any situations where you feel that in the future, as I hope for our lessons._

_Try not to get caught using this by anybody with authority, because that would be a nightmare._

_I hope you enjoy your Christmas and I will see you on New Years._

_All the best,  
Grace_

Damn!

Harry wasn’t sure if Grace had enchanted this herself, but something told him she had. Especially seeing as it was Weitts family magic.

His perception of how talented Grace was changed instantly. He knew that she was good. A prodigy, even. But exactly how good was she?

Maybe she hadn’t topped the Dark Lady’s gift from exactly one year ago, but the not yet Hogwarts graduate had certainly given her a run for her money.

_**Later that day, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…** _

“So,” Hermione was saying to Ron and Charlus, hidden away in the bathroom they had monopolized for much of the last month, “we all know the plan?”

The boys nodded. “You’ve got your hair already,” Charlus started. “Ron and I still have to go and get ours from Crabbe and Goyle. Hide the bodies in a closet or something after they’re stunned, or bound, or whatever. Then, we come back here and get this show on the road.”

“Still think it would have worked better if we used your brother’s closer friends,” Ron grumbled.

“The only ones still here are either older students or Zabini,” Hermione said exasperatedly. It was an argument they’d had several times. “None of us would be able to overpower the older students, and Zabini hasn’t left Potter’s side for a second.”

“It’s the best we can do,” Charlus said resolutely, setting his jaw with determination. “We’ll have to make it work.”

_**Minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

Harry watched on as Blaise continued to lose tremendously to Hestia in a game of wizarding chess. It wasn’t that his friend was no good, he just picked the worst people to try and play against. Seriously, he never had a chance against Hestia.

“Any time now,” Blaise muttered as he waited for the older girl to make her next move. Hestia might have taken it as a challenge, but Harry understood his true meaning and nodded discreetly.

The common room entrance took that exact moment to open up, allowing the hulking figures of Crabbe and Goyle to waddle their way inside. Harry and Blaise exchanged brief glances as Malfoy’s two goons made their way towards Harry’s group of friends. 

“Evening Crabbe, Goyle,” Harry greeted coolly, looking back down to the mess of arithmancy he’d been working on while watching his younger friend get thrashed at chess by his older friend. The two boys grumbled some sort of greeting in return. 

“We… wanted to ask you something?” Crabbe mumbled.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think we were on great terms.”

The two boys exchanged looks, clearly confused at Harry’s attitude, and that was the moment Harry knew his intel was correct and that this really was happening.

“Did-did we do something to you?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Following Malfoy around like lost puppies might count as doing something to me. I haven’t exactly made it a secret how I feel about him.”

“This isn’t about Malfoy,” Goyle insisted.

The corners of Harry’s lips twitched. He already knew that all too well. “What is it about then, Goyle?”

“The-the Chamber of Secrets.” The entire group that was gathered around the three began to slowly hush, as Harry surveyed the two large boys who sat near him with perfect neutrality.

“So you two are some of the idiots who believe I’m the Heir of Slytherin?”

“We… we never said that-“

“You didn’t have to, Crabbe. You’re about as subtle as a Bludgeoning Curse. I can tell you that I haven’t done anything involving the Chamber of Secrets. I have no idea where it is, or how to open it, or if it even exists.” 

His eyes gleamed as he leaned forwards, and the two boys he stared down may have realized the other members of the little circle were tensing, if only they were a tad more perceptive. Or perhaps if they weren’t so focused on Harry and nobody else. 

“But here’s a little tidbit. Apparently, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago. A student actually died and somebody was expelled.”

Pansy really had looked into the Chamber of Secrets, and her research had been thorough.

“Who?”

“I have no idea. The records are probably out there, but I don’t really care.”’

“You don’t?”

“Not at all. After last year, I’d prefer to stay out of this kind of drama, all things considered.” Harry scowled and his eyes flashed, causing both boys to lean backwards. “But I know you’re different and that you’ll want to go sticking your nose into trouble. Which is exactly why I thought I would be generous and help out a bit. Happy Christmas… little brother.”

Before either imposter could move, Harry’s wand had shot into his hand and he swept it towards the both of them. The banishing charm that flew from it was powerful enough to send them both sailing through the air. So did the couch they’d sat on, but Hestia, who had also drawn her wand just like everyone around her, managed to divert its course so as to not crush the two imposters. They made to scramble to their feet, but they were suddenly flooded by magic as all of Harry’s friends unleashed a torrent of jinxes, hexes and even a few minor curses. 

Harry stood and slowly marched his way towards them. The common room was empty aside from Harry’s older group of friends, plus Blaise and Ginny. Everybody currently present made up Slytherin’s entire roster at the moment, minus Bulstrode- if one counted the two imposters as Crabbe and Goyle- as a result of the ongoing holidays. Harry stood over the two of them, looking down with furious eyes. Neither boy at his feet could move, but their eyes said it all. 

They were filled with shock and terror.

“First of all, Charlus, never try and spy on me ever again. Second of all, if you’re going to be stupid enough to try anyway, definitely don’t try and act as two people who I’m not super close with. Especially when you know almost nothing about them and can’t copy them if your life depends on it.” He paused, as if trying to remember something important. “Oh and that’s right, and if you’re going to brew an illegal potion, definitely don’t do it in a room that isn’t even warded.” Harry suspected that if whichever boy was Charlus could move his mouth, he would be gaping in shock.

_**The Past  
December 19, 1992  
The Library** _

“So let me get this straight,” Harry asked Pansy, eyes narrowed. “You saw Granger leaving the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor and thought she looked suspicious?” Pansy nodded, with the rest of the group’s attention fixed firmly upon both her and Harry. “So next time you saw her in that area,” Harry continued, “you followed her, noticed she went in again and tried to eavesdrop?” Another nod. “You noticed there was a privacy ward up so you got really suspicious. You left and came back later. Then, you found a potion you thought was Polyjuice, questioned the ghost of a girl named Myrtle, and was told that Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Charlus Potter were brewing that very potion in the toilet you found it in?” 

For a third time, Pansy nodded.

Harry rubbed at his temples. Sometimes, his brother’s idiocy was truly astonishing. “Okay, first question: how the hell does Granger even know how to brew that potion? I mean, it’s definitely her brewing it because the other two are idiots, but how? I’m pretty sure I’m better than her at potions and I only know how to brew it because of that book I took out of the Restricted Section last year with Hurst’s note. _Moste Potente Potions.”_

“She must have gotten a note too,” Tracey said reasonably.

“Yes, but how? Which teacher in their right mind would give a second year a pass?” Harry suddenly realized he had just inadvertently given his friends a perfect opportunity to press him about Hurst, but they didn’t take it. Clearly, they all realized they had more pressing things on their hands.

“Binns, apparently,” Pansy filled in. “Myrtle said Weasley asked the same thing. One day, after a history lesson, Granger asked Binns if she could sign out some books from the Restricted Section to ‘further her knowledge’. Obviously, the idiot just signed the note without even realizing what the hell she was asking for.” Pansy scowled. “Not that he probably would have cared even if he had looked at it.”

“Okay,” Harry muttered, as he tapped his fingers restlessly on the table, “okay, so they have Polyjuice Potion, which lets them look like anybody they want to as long as they have their hair. Does anybody know which Slytherins from our year or the year below are staying behind for the break? If they have any brains, they’ll use one of them.”

“You, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, and Weasley,” Pansy answered without missing a beat.

“Right… so Blaise, stick with me when outside the common room. I’ll have Weasley do the same.” Blaise nodded, seeming to understand exactly where Harry’s mind was going. “That way, they’ll have to use Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode. We can just watch for any odd behaviour and jump on it.”

“Um,” Pansy cut in, “that might not be necessary.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Because they said exactly how and when they were planning to do it without even realizing Myrtle was listening in the stall beside them.”

This time, Harry actually slammed his head against the desk.

Merlin’s balls, his twin was an idiot!

_**Back in the present…** _

“Oh, and last thing,” Harry said dryly, “if you know something is haunting that room, especially something that can go and run its mouth, don’t spill your entire plan.” Now, Charlus was looking frantic.

“What do we do with them?” Flora asked, looking rather cruelly down at the two helpless figures.

“Turn them into Snape,” Harry said without hesitating. “Anything else we do will backfire on me. Dumbledore already thinks I’m behind anything and everything wrong in the world right now. I don’t need to give him any more reasons to be suspicious.” Harry looked down at the closest figure to his feet, who just so happened to be Goyle. “But first, let’s find the other one, shall we?” 

Readying his mind and pulling the little bit of experience he had on the subject to the forefront, Harry pressed his wand against Goyle’s forehead with a visage in place that reflected pure, uninterrupted concentration.

“Legilimens!”

If not for his practice with Grace, he would have jumped out of his skin. To put it lightly, the connection was far stronger with a wand than without. The first time Grace had allowed him to establish a connection with his wand during their only practice involving Legilimency, he had been shocked by how thoughts raced to him. He still had no ability to guide them or use any subtlety at all, but thankfully, his comment about finding the other one had forced a rather amusing image of a particularly furious Hermione Granger hiding in a stall to the forefront of Goyle’s, or rather, Ron’s mind.

Harry pulled out and had to try hard not to gasp. He pressed his hands to his temples as a rather sharp stab of pain coursed through his skull. All of his friends were looking at him strangely. The collective question was obvious.

Since when did you know Legilimency?

Harry ignored them, shaking his head in an effort to clear it before glancing up at Hestia. “Right. Granger is in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor. Seeing as you’re actually — you know — a witch, can you go and get her?” Hestia nodded and marched swiftly from the common room, twirling her wand fluidly through her fingers. Harry then sent Blaise off to get Snape and sneered back down at his twin. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you this before, but your plans really suck.”

_**December 27, 1992  
The Great Hall  
8:11 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_Boy-Who-Lived Charged For Possession and Use of an Illegal Potion  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

“That woman does not pull punches,” Harry cheerfully remarked as he glanced down at the bold headline flashing at the top of Hestia’s copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Not even a little bit,” Blaise returned with a smirk. “Much more entertaining when it’s not aimed at you, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.”

Charlus, Ron, and a still fur-covered Hermione had been frog-marched up to the Headmaster’s office by Snape. Dumbledore somehow hadn’t expelled them. Harry had no idea how the man kept doing it, but he truly had a talent for getting his idiotic twin out of sketchy situations. 

While they may not have been expelled, they had all been punished severely. 

All three of them had detention on Saturday night every weekend until the end of the year. Charlus was off the Gryffindor Quidditch team for that same amount of time, and Hermione was banned from checking anything out of the library. Harry was sure she would find a way around it, but she was only supposed to use the library for purposes strictly related to her classes. 

As far as Harry knew, Ron Weasley hadn’t received a specialized punishment, but he would apparently be missing a lot of school, since Molly Weasley was supposedly following through on her threat to pull him from Hogwarts from the beginning of the year once she and her husband returned from their trip to Egypt. That last part was according to Ginny.

Now that he’d read the prophet, Harry focused his attention on his own mail. It was marked with the emblem used by the Greengrass’s law firm, and Harry knew even before opening it that it had been sent by his solicitor, Veronica Tate.

_Heir Potter,  
The knife was sent off for evaluation immediately after you left my office. Lord Greengrass expedited the process, and the results have come back._

_As you indicated, the blade is enchanted so that no means will heal cuts it makes. Another, darker enchantment is that the knife will not immediately kill its victims. It will trigger psychological damage, but the damage that will be done mentally is relative to the damage done physically. A graze or shallow cut would likely only mean a horrible few weeks for the victim. A deep cut would likely mean they would eventually commit suicide. It is an extremely illegal, but extremely rare enchantment. It is also goblin-made, which, aside from outstanding durability, means that it has the unique ability to absorb any essence which would make it stronger._

_All of this combined with the fact that it is an artifact that has existed for centuries, means that our estimate for its value is somewhere in the range of six-thousand galleons._

_As for your other business…_

Harry read the rest of the letter before sitting back in his chair. The enchanted knife was a useful item to have, no doubt. But he thought the galleons would likely be more useful to him. Especially if Pettigrew was planning to have him banished from the Potter family. On the off chance he somehow managed to succeed, Harry wanted to be prepared by the time that happened. 

He had already planned on trying to make some money just in case something like that ever happened. The idea had been born from his terrifying encounter with Malfoy the year previous, but it had just risen much higher on his ever-growing list of priorities.

Six-thousand galleons was certainly a good start.

__**December 31, 1992**  
Greengrass Manor  
8:00 PM 

Harry stepped out of the fire with what he considered to be a considerable amount of grace. It felt nice to be back at Greengrass Manor. He wouldn’t quite call the place a home, but outside of Hogwarts- as well as Weitts Manor- it was certainly the closest thing he had to one. It was the place he’d gone to after he had been liberated from the Dursleys this last summer, after all.

He noticed that the Weitts and Greengrass families were rather preoccupied, so he chose to walk towards the corridor that he thought likely led to the ballroom. As he walked towards it, he noticed an additional member of the Weitts family he’d never seen before.

The man was clearly much older than any of the other Weitts family members. He was a couple of inches shorter than Sigmund, and had white hair that Harry could imagine used to be platinum blonde, just like Adriana’s and Charlotte’s. His face was old and weathered, but he still looked to be in fairly good shape and like he had an admirable amount of exuberance for one his age. The eyes were the same as all the other members of his family. Their silvery-blue colour couldn’t be missed nor mistaken.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so focused on the new man that he hadn’t even noticed Charlotte, dressed in a rather stunning white dress, come up behind him. “Merlin, Charlotte, don’t do that!”

She smirked. “We’ll just have to make sure you get good at Legilimency. That way, I won’t be able to sneak up on you like that.” Her smile widened. “Well, I know Occlumency so I’ll still be able to, but you get the idea.”

“Yes, yes, I get the idea.” He looked from Charlotte to the man who was now shaking hands with Cornelius Fudge, Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes. “Who’s that man, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My Grandfather,” Charlotte answered with obvious fondness. “He’s technically still the Lord of House Weitts, but my Father handles most of it.”

“I’ve never seen him before today.”

“He doesn’t live in England, so that’s not surprising.”

“I would ask you where he lived, but I have a feeling you’re not allowed to say.”

Charlotte shrugged. “I’m not allowed to give the information to people I don’t trust, but I can say it if I trust the person.”

“Go on?”

Her lips twitched. “You assume I trust you?”

“You did come to me for lessons in combat magic.”

“Alright, touché, I guess. He lives in a castle in Germany.”

“A… castle?”

“Yes, Weitts Manor is only our second-largest property.”

As the two of them neared the ballroom, Harry couldn’t help but wonder just how obscenely rich the Weitts family actually was. Six-thousand galleons had sounded like a ton of money at the time. He knew it wasn’t in the grand scheme of things, but he suddenly wondered whether the House of Weitts would even bat an eye at such a small sum of money.

“He wants to meet you later,” Charlotte informed Harry as she led him to the longest, most central table. He assumed it would be where both the Weitts and Greengrass families would be sitting.

“I’m surprised I’m sitting here.”

Charlotte looked at him sharply. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, I’m not a member of the Weitts or Greengrass families. My house is important, but probably not super important to either of your families, seeing as we’re Liberals and you’re both Neutrals. I understood it last year. The forsaken Potter heir steeped in mystery and all of that rubbish, but this year…”

“Not everything is a politically driven decision,” Charlotte pointed out. “You're one of my best friends. Same goes for Daphne.”

“Yet I’m guessing Blaise isn’t going to be sitting here when he shows up in five or so minutes?”

Charlotte’s face blanked, an obvious sign to Harry that he’d caught her out. “No, he isn’t. He’s a friend, but not as close as you. You’ve actually spent time here over the summer. Not counting my actual family, Daphne, and Astoria, you’re probably the closest thing I have to family.”

That statement caused ample amounts of warmth to spread through him, and Harry had to fight down a blush. He struggled with compliments, let alone anything bordering on affection. He could suppress the feeling, obviously, but he had no desire to. It wasn’t unpleasant, just alien.

“And the other reason?” he prompted, knowing by her reaction that there was one.

She shrugged. “I already told you, Grandfather wants to meet you.”

Despite apparently wanting to meet him, Giaus Weitts said very little to Harry beyond a basic formality when he took his seat at the head of the table. That struck Harry as odd, too. This was Cyrus Greengrass’s house, yet the Lord of House Weitts took the head. Perhaps it was just that he was the oldest and most seasoned of the lords currently at the table.

The gala stretched on for some time whilst everybody ate. After a time, Lord Greengrass stood and gave a speech about the closing of one year and the opening of the next. Once his speech had concluded, the floor was opened for both dancing and politicking. 

“Sticking with me again?” Harry asked Charlotte as Daphne - (being the Greengrass Heiress and hostess of the event - found herself swamped at once.

Charlotte smiled. “Now you’re learning.”

The two of them walked laps around the ballroom for quite some time. All the while, Harry kept his eyes out for Lord Weitts, but the man never approached him. Perhaps he wasn’t as interested as Charlotte suspected, or perhaps she had simply used him as an excuse to justify his place at their table. He thought the latter option to be unlikely since he couldn’t see why else he would have been there, but he wasn’t about to discount the possibility altogether. 

Harry found himself approached by a fair number of people involved in Quidditch. Apparently, outflying a rogue bludger, leading a death-defying chase under a set of bleachers, and beating the prodigal Boy-Who-Lived earned one a fair bit of attention. It wasn’t as if they were offering a twelve-year-old boy a contract or any such nonsense, but he was congratulated rather jovially by some fairly large names in the sport. 

Some time later, the two of them found themselves joined by another. She was no doubt Daphne’s sister. She had the same sapphire blue eyes, though her hair was light brown instead of honey blonde and her features, though definitely still soft, were slightly sharper than Daphne’s.

“Astoria!” Charlotte hugged the youngest member of House Greengrass, obviously being rather familiar with her. This wasn’t exactly a surprise to Harry. He’d met her briefly after her family had liberated him from Privet Drive. Outside of that, he had only seen her for a few seconds around Greengrass Manor whenever he had flooed over during the summer, as well as even more briefly during his first ever formal gala.

“How’s Hogwarts?” Astoria asked, sounding every bit as curious as Charlotte when she’d asked Daphne that same question exactly fourteen months earlier. 

Charlotte gave a rather detailed answer, and the two of them were quickly caught up in conversation. As Harry began to space out, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned quickly to see Grace standing before him. 

“How did you manage to get out of the madness, Heiress Weitts?” Harry put a deliberate amount of mocking formality into Grace’s title, which just made the older girl roll her eyes.

“A few polite excuses and some well-practiced smiles usually work well. I was wondering if you would care for a dance?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. Grace knew all too well his stance on physical contact of any kind. Let alone the fact that she had hardly ever touched him before. He let Daphne get away with it most of the time, but that was because she was as persistent as a niffler looking for gold, and by now, he was somewhat accustomed to it. 

Obviously, Grace noticed his apprehension. “It’s not supposed to be comfortable,” she prefaced. “I know that you can suppress emotions now. I also know it’s harder to suppress things brought on by physical sensations, so it will be good practice. It’s also good publicity for you to be seen with me if you’re going to be spending time around the family in the next few years.”

Harry sighed theatrically before following her onto the dance floor as requested. “Why do you always have to be right?”

She laughed lightly. “I have a feeling your friends probably ask you the same question.”

“They do sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ask it of you.”

“It doesn’t, but it probably means you know all of the answers I would give you as well as I do.”

“Touché.”

Harry did indeed have to suppress the sensations he felt as well as his emotions for the first few steps of the dance, but it became easier as they moved. It was certainly nice to be able to partake in normal activities without being as stiff as a board. “Much better,” Grace said with a small smile. “You’re improving very quickly, you know.”

“I need to keep improving just as fast, if not faster.”

“You will. The stages might take longer as you move through them, but relatively speaking, you will.”

They danced for another minute or so before Harry spoke. Thanking people — yet another thing he despised and was utterly rubbish at. “Thanks for the chain, by the way. It was… the most impressive gift I got. Between the two of us, that is actually saying quite a bit.”

Grace gave him a rather knowing look. “I’m sure it is, and you’re welcome. I wasn't actually sure whether I would be able to give it to you or not. There were some… logistical problems, not to mention how difficult it actually was to make.”

“You made it yourself?”

“I did.”

“In the time between arriving back home and Christmas?”

“Merlin, no. I’ve been working on it since November. I put more hours into it than I would care to admit, but I think it turned out well.”

“I can’t say I’ve had the chance to test it yet.”

“I would hope not. It’s been less than a week.”

“Any obvious limitations I should know about?”

Grace thought for a moment. “Not really. Theoretically, a skilled enough wizard could overpower it, but it would be a pain. The only thing I would warn you of is that it works better indoors than out. It covers a certain area. Outdoors, with more room to move, it’s obviously not going to work as well.”

Harry hadn’t actually thought about that, but it was a useful tidbit to have. 

Near the end of their dance, Harry came out with a question that had been bothering him for reasons he could not entirely articulate. “Is your grandfather actually interested in me?”

Grace paused to consider the question. “Interested? Absolutely. I don’t think most people who have heard of you aren’t interested. I’m not sure you realize how incredible three O+’s in a year actually is. First year or not, it got you some attention. You’re also very good friends with Charlotte, and he knows the two of us spend at least a decent amount of time together. I had to get his permission just to make the chain for you at all.”

That was interesting. So at the very least Giaus Weitts thought him worthy of that. Or, perhaps, he thought it would just further in-debt Harry to their family. He wouldn’t be wrong if he thought the latter, though Harry seriously hoped he had agreed with the former in mind, even if it was perhaps naive of him. Emily would certainly have said so.

When the dance had concluded, Harry politely excused himself for some air. He had suppressed all feelings and emotions successfully, but doing so was still rather exhausting. After a relatively short time, he found his way out onto a balcony that overlooked the long, snow-covered lawns of Greengrass Manor.

“Heir Potter.”

The voice was not one Harry was familiar with. It was as cold as ice and as hard as steel and it instantly put him on edge. When he turned, the man standing before him was not one he had seen either.

“Sir?”

“I am Lord Darren Mulciber.” 

Uh-oh.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The man did not return his greeting. “You have something that belongs to me, Potter.”

“Sir?”

“My dagger. It is an heirloom that has been in the Mulciber family for centuries. I demand it be returned to me immediately.”

“You can’t make that demand, Lord Mulciber.”

The man’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Can’t I, Potter?”

“No, you can’t. The dagger is highly illegal. You have no right to own it in the first place. I highly doubt you’ve registered it as a possession, so you actually don’t have any rights to demand it back.” 

That was all information he’d received during his crash course with Veronica Tate. He had essentially just regurgitated what she had told him. It was all true, but Lord Mulciber did not look happy.

“Listen to me, boy,” he growled. “I know you stole that dagger from my son and heir. You will return it immediately or you will suffer the consequences.”

Harry suppressed all emotion from his face and stared passively back at Lord Mulciber. “Your son and heir was attacking my friend with that dagger and he deserves to be in Azkaban for it. I think the knife should be the last of your worries. And I doubt you’ll attack me or any such nonsense,” he said quickly before Mulciber could retort. “My family outranks yours and I’m the heir. Regardless of my brother being the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, it wouldn’t be a good idea to attack me.” His eyes shone. “Especially not when the dagger is with my solicitor, at the moment.”

“You little bastard!” Mulciber snarled, hand creeping towards his wand.

“Language, Mulciber,” somebody else drawled condescendingly from behind the man. 

He whirled, obviously in a fury and eager to take out his pent up frustration on anybody in the vicinity. Then, the oddest thing happened. He blanched completely and obviously at the sight of the newcomer, who was a tall, familiar woman with dark features and heavily lidded eyes. Harry would have recognized her even if they hadn’t met over a year ago. Her daughter was a miniature version of her in terms of their appearance, for Merlin’s sake.

“Lady Black,” Mulciber muttered, quickly calming his tone and looking anywhere but at Bellatrix. 

“Leave us, Mulciber. I would like a word with my cousin.” Mulciber did not look happy about it in the least, but he grudgingly left. Harry was pretty sure that wouldn’t be his last altercation with the man, but Bellatrix Black had at least spared him for the time being.

But the way Mulciber had backed down so suddenly…

He’d known Bellatrix Black was dangerous from the moment they had first met. Just how dangerous was she really, though, for a man like Mulciber to back down without any hesitation?

“Lady Black,” Harry greeted cautiously.

Bellatrix smiled a disarming smile. “None of that from you. The last time we met, I told you to call me Bellatrix or Bella. That hasn’t changed since.”

Harry bowed his head. “As you wish.” He paused. “Thank you for that, by the way. I don’t think he was actually going to do anything, but I didn’t want to chance it either.” Of course, he had planned for that scenario. Grace’s chain would have gotten its first field test had Mulciber actually been foolish enough to attack him.

“You’re a very good judge of character,” Bellatrix told him with a small smile. “He wasn’t going to attack you, but he still shouldn’t have threatened an heir. Let alone one who outranks him.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m just happy nothing came of it.”

“Happy to be of service, Harry.” Harry noticed how, unlike most, she didn’t ask permission to use his first name. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What is this dagger that Lord Mulciber is referring to?” Harry glanced hastily around, but Bellatrix merely laughed softly. “Silly Harry, there’s nobody else here.” He wasn’t sure how she knew that since he was quite certain she hadn’t cast a Homenum Revelio, but he wasn’t about to call her out on it.

“That’s… a delicate matter.”

“I won’t tell,” Bellatrix practically purred. “Not a soul. I swear it to you.”

Harry hesitated. “Why do you ask, Bellatrix? Would you be interested in a dagger?”

Amusement danced in her eyes. “Maybe. Is the Potter Heir looking for some spare gold?”

“It… would be a little bit more than spare gold.”

Now, Bellatrix really did look interested. “Go on.”

Harry debated it for only a moment before deciding to go for it. She was the Lady of House Black. She didn’t strike him as a snitch. “The dagger is hundreds of years old, stops any cut it makes from being healed, is goblin-made and can cause long-term, psychological damage.”

Bellatrix’s eyes sparkled with something else now — desire.

“You asked if I was interested in a knife. I have a counter-question to ask you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you interested in selling me a knife?”

“That depends on how much you’re willing to pay for it.”

Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively. “Money means nothing. Give me a price.”

Harry debated just how high of a number would be absurd. He decided to go big or go home. If he needed to backtrack, he could just play the ignorant twelve-year-old card. “Twelve-thousand galleons.”

“Done.”

Harry blinked. “Um… really?”

Bellatrix smirked knowingly. “Don’t think you’ve pulled one over on me, Harry. I know all too well that knife is not worth twelve thousand galleons. If it’s worth more than five thousand, I am frankly impressed. But as I said, money means nothing to me. I have more of it than I could ever spend. I am simply helping out a member of the family, after all.” 

She stepped forward and extended her hand. “Of course, the paperwork will need to be filed, but do we have a deal? No re-negotiating?” Harry took her outstretched hand.

A minute or so later, Bellatrix had left, and he was left alone once more, staring out over the beautiful landscape stretching out around him.

“You are a popular man, Heir Potter.”

Or perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he had thought.

Giaus Weitts strode towards him, his simple black robes trimmed in grey seeming to flow in perfect synchrony with his movements. 

“Lord Weitts?”

“Indeed.”

“How… she said there was nobody here. I didn’t think there was a way of fooling the Homenum Revelio charm?”

“She never cast the Homenum Revelio charm, as I am sure you know. Some sorcerers are skillful enough to sense magic without the need for revealing charms or Legilimency connections. Lady Black just so happens to be one of those people.” His lips twitched. “It just so happens that I am more skillful than her, and that I have a way of eluding such senses when I see fit to do so.”

“I… didn’t know that was possible.”

“It isn’t magic that will ever be taught at Hogwarts. It is available only to the exceptional and is something that can be taught only to an extent. Naturally, I expect you will be capable of it in a few years’ time.”

“You… what?”

Lord Weitts looked at him for the first time, and Harry nearly shivered. All of their eyes were damn identical! Charlotte, Grace, Adriana, Giaus. 

“I have wished to meet you for some time, Harry Potter. My granddaughters are both very close to you. They are both exceptional witches, not just in spirit but in magic as well. Yet the youngest of them speaks of you in such a high regard that it would seem you are in a league of your own. Even the elder of the two seems wholly convinced you will one day dwarf her academic accomplishments, various as they might be.”

“They’re both very talented, sir.”

“Indeed they are, which only makes it the more impressive the way they speak of you.” Harry didn’t really know how to respond to that. “I will be frank with you, Harry Potter. I was not thrilled when I heard tales of you, nor when I learned that my youngest family member in particular was so closely acquainted with you.”

“Sir?”

“You are no ordinary wizard. We both know this, so do not insult my intelligence by denying it. You have progressed rapidly in Occlumency. You have done so at a rate that amazed even Grace, who is already one of the very best Occlumency practitioners in Britain. Yet you also display an aptitude for Legilimency. An affinity for one is rare. An affinity for both, while not completely unique, is almost unheard of. Compound that with your outstanding academic achievements and your display at your family’s gala in the summer — no, you are not an ordinary wizard. Not in the slightest.” Harry opened his mouth, but Giaus cut him off. “And do not speak ill of your showcase last summer. I know you were holding back.” That shut Harry up.

“Do you know why I am saying this? Do you know why I was initially unhappy with my family’s relationship with you?”

“No, sir.”

“You may not be one as of yet, but you will one day ascend far beyond the definition of a wizard. You will be a true mage. Do not tell me they are the same, for they are not. A wizard is one who can wield magic. A mage is one who has mastered magic. Who bends the forces of reality around them with barely more than a thought. Albus Dumbledore is a mage, as is his one-time instructor, Nicholas Flamel. Gellert Grindelwald fell into this category as well, as did the Dark Lady who called herself Voldemort. There are one or two more, but these are the names you will recognize. The names that will have the most profound impact on you.

“You will one day join their ranks as long as you stay the course. I know this better than any. I have seen mages rise. Not just any mages either, but true, centennial sorcerers.”

“Sir, I… don’t know what that means?”

“To be called a centennial sorcerer means that you defined the century in which you were born. There is usually one of these beings per century. The nineteenth was an exception. Both Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore would be categorized as such. Until recently, I believed England’s Dark Lady to be the defining sorceress of the twentieth century, but I suspect you will challenge her throne. Whether you oppose her or not does not matter. You and her are the Dumbledore and Grindelwald of this century. Not yet, but you will be.

“As I have said, I have seen two of these figures rise. Three, in a way. I watched from inside Germany as Gellert Grindelwald conquered much of Europe, gained unimaginable powers and dove into truly unspeakable magics. Magics which turned his own men against him in droves. I have seen Albus Dumbledore rise through the ranks of the ICW, though I am younger than he, and ascend to the position he is in now. And I have seen the rise and subsequent fall of Voldemort. I know what to look for. I know the signs of a mage and a centennial sorcerer better than any person alive aside from those names I have just mentioned. Aside from power, brilliance, achievements and all the rest, can you guess what Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, and the woman who called herself Lady Voldemort have in common?”

“No, sir.” Harry had a few guesses, but none he wished to voice aloud.

“These people all chase greatness. It is in their nature. In the process, the people around them are not only often abandoned, they are often caught up in whatever greatness said magical is pursuing. People around this level of magery do not often come out on the other side quite as well off as they went in.” Giaus gave Harry a hard look. “And that is if they come out at all — plenty don’t.” Harry’s breath caught, but the man continued ruthlessly.

“Albus Dumbledore’s sister died as a result of his ambition and his ploys. To this day, his own brother cannot bear to speak with him. He would sit and watch on in amusement if Albus’s world came crashing down around him. Grindelwald’s apparent friends and allies were little more than pawns and test dummies. Even those who supported him eventually realized what he sought to do and abandoned him because of the monster he truly was. I will admit I know less of Lady Voldemort than I do the other two, but look what has become of those who supported her.”

“You’re afraid that same thing will happen to Grace and Charlotte,” Harry said at long last.

“Precisely.”

“What can I say to you that will make you believe otherwise?”

Giaus laughed. “How naive of you to ask such a question. The future is a funny thing, Harry Potter. Nobody can see the future, not even those among us who are possessed with the supposedly all-seeing inner eye. We can only see the possibilities said future may present. There is nothing you could tell me that would assure me that my family will be better off for knowing you. However, there are things you can do and say that may put my mind at ease. It is one of the reasons I agreed for my family to house you, after all.”

“To watch me?”

“Indeed.”

“And what did they think?”

“That you were a remarkable young boy who was perhaps a bit lost and not exactly sure of his place in the world.”

That had been a very honest answer. “I’m… not quite sure what you mean by not knowing my place in the world. I know it politically.”

“Yet another thing that sets the greats apart.” Giaus seemed to think for a moment. “Allow me to introduce another term to you. You are aware of what a Lord and Lady means in the political sense?”

“Of course.”

“What is the difference then, Heir Potter, between a lord or lady of the Wizengamot compared to a lord or lady of the light, dark, or grey?”

“Everything you said earlier?”

“In part, yes. The Dark Lady is called such because she defined the ideologies of the dark faction. She defined an entire idea by working outside the scope of the Wizengamot as well as inside of it. The same can be said for Grindelwald, who was the last true lord in the sense we are speaking of.”

“Is Dumbledore not a lord?”

“He certainly borders on the title, but I would not consider him one. For one thing, Albus Dumbledore is not a Light Lord. For all of his preaching, Dumbledore is far more grey than he is light. His ideals and desires may be light, but his methods certainly are not. It is actions that define us. Not our thoughts. I know things about Albus Dumbledore that would make the poor, naive Liberals gawk in horror. No, Dumbledore does not define the light, as much as he wishes he did. He could be a true lord if he so chose, but he has not chosen that path. Grindelwald was the last true lord, just as Voldemort was the last true lady. Do you follow”

Harry nodded. 

“Good, let me explain another thing that makes a true lord or lady. Their ambitions match their skill set. They strive for something outside the normal scope of a witch or wizard. This is oftentimes why they operate outside of the standard parameters society sets upon them. They have very set goals and oftentimes, they will stop at nothing to achieve them. Which, in turn, is what makes them so dangerous, regardless of the goals they chase. Though of course, some, like world domination, are far more dangerous than others.

“If you so choose when the time comes, you will be a lord, Harry Potter. But a lord of what? The light, the dark, of the grey?”

“I… I don’t know, sir.”

Giaus nodded. “I thought not. In that case, I have two requests of you, young man. I do not need these done soon. The first of them, we will speak about this summer. If your answer satisfies me, it will do a great deal to dissuade my worry. The second of these things I do not expect you to achieve for some time. Though of course, if you do so earlier, or have any ideas on the front, I would love to hear them.”

Harry set his jaw. “What are they, sir?”

“The first of which is to study the light, the dark, and the grey. Not the propaganda. I would like you to dive into the history and philosophy behind each of them. This summer, I will ask you which ideals appeal to you the most. If you were to be a true lord, which of these domains would you lord over? And do not simply answer grey to appease me. I am interested in your honest answer. More than one is acceptable depending on the justifications you provide. Do you understand?” Again, Harry nodded.

“The second thing is for you to establish what it is you want in life. Do not simply answer to be the greatest wizard in the world. That is not a goal worthy of somebody with your potential. If you are going to be associated with my family, I will not see your potential warped in a way that will ruin us, but I will not see it squandered either. I do not need an answer for several years still, but think very deeply. Think of what it is that defines you. Think of what it is you think should define the world. When you have thought about those two things, come to me with your dearest ambition. Not a small, sentimental, personal goal, but an achievement that would be truly worthy of a true lord.

“Do those two things, Harry Potter, and we shall talk more openly than I have spoken with any in decades.”

_**Some time later, back in the ballroom of Greengrass Manor** _

For reasons he couldn’t entirely explain, Harry’s conversation with Giaus Weitts had shaken him to the core. Not because of anything the man had done or how he had acted. He had been polite, if blunt, but that was how Harry would have liked it. Just because he was a Slytherin didn’t mean he had to play word games with every single person he ever met. That would be ridiculous. He appreciated somebody who wasn’t afraid to get to the point and tell it to them like it was.

But the point was what had shaken him.

Everything Giaus said not only made sense, but it resonated with him. It was as if the older man could actually see the future. It felt as if by saying all of that, he was manifesting it into reality. And those questions… they were things Harry had never thought about. He had only ever thought of the light, the dark, and the grey as the Liberals, the Conservatives, and the Neutrals. Never in his life had he sat back and considered them as a philosophy. The closest he’d come to that was his stance on magic.

And that wasn’t even talking about his potential and stance in the world, let alone his life’s ambitions. Merlin, that had been a lot to digest.

Yet after all of that, the night’s events had not yet concluded.

“About time,” he muttered when Daphne finally joined himself and Charlotte. “You really have been busy, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea.” Those words sounded oddly significant for reasons Harry couldn’t decipher.

Not until about three seconds later, anyway.

There was a loud crash that drew the entire room’s attention. Draco Malfoy had flipped a table ladened with expensive-looking desserts. His wand was in his hand, and he suddenly slashed it towards Lord Weitts.

“Exoculatus!”

Somebody caused a table to intercept the Blinding Curse Malfoy had fired in Lord Weitts’s direction but the room was suddenly full of gasps, shouts, and even expletives.

Malfoy had clearly snapped and he appeared unhinged. He sent tables tumbling with the knockback jinx, he threw chairs, and even hurled spells towards Lord Weitts. He was enraged.

It only took a few seconds for him to be stunned but in that short time, he had done plenty of damage. All eyes in the room suddenly turned to the Malfoy parents, who were looking on with utter horror.

Except one set of eyes, that was.

One calculating set of emerald orbs were peering at a specific heiress with a mix of suspicion and awe.

It appeared by the smirk on her face that Daphne had finally taken revenge on behalf of Tracey after fourteen plus months.

And by Merlin, had it been glorious!

If Harry’s stunts had damaged the boy’s reputation the year earlier, this had utterly ruined it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I wonder how many of you forgot about Daphne’s revenge. I actually have records of a conversation with one of my betas from way back in April where we discussed a vague outline for this scene, so it has been planned for months.**
> 
> **A lot of philosophy in this chapter that needed to be written. I hope it didn’t read too dry. Same with the gift scene. Ugh! I hate writing gift scenes, but they are a necessary evil. They’re just so hard to make interesting. I always try to include internal monologue and dialogue to break up the monotonous list, so I hope I was successful on this occasion.**
> 
> **A reminder that my new fic has been posted for anyone who would like to read it. Any support on it would be greatly appreciated. If you would like to learn more about it before you dive in, there is a blog post all about it that can be found on my website. You can follow the link on my profile and then scroll down to the “Blogs” header to find it.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 21st, 2020.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, Liam Evans and Sesc for their contributions/corrections this week!**
> 
> **An additional shoutout to Wakefan from my Discord sever for the suggested chapter title.**


	24. Extreme Escalations Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**January 1, 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:17 AM** _

Earlier in the year, Harry had been taken aback by some of the more incendiary articles Rita Skeeter had published. Later, he’d been equally perplexed by her sudden backtracking of the aforementioned articles that had been posted months earlier. Now, on the first day of the new year, Harry’s suspicions in regards to the latter were furthered.

_****_ ****

**_Controversy and Chaos Steal the Show at the Greengrass Family Gala!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

On the surface, one might wonder why this sparked any reaction from Harry at all. Naturally, he should have expected an article to come after such a major irregularity at a highly followed social event. This was all true, and it was the exact reason Harry wasn’t at all surprised by the headline. What surprised him was the article that accompanied it.

_Last night, the Founding House of Greengrass hosted a major social gathering. At said gathering were many of the most prominent witches and wizards from all across the country, as is usually the case when families of this caliber open their houses. However, this event wasn’t quite like many that have come before it._

_Late in the festivities, an atrocity took place._

_Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy, appeared to become enraged, causing a fair bit of damage as he recklessly fired spells at a rather prominent member of our society._

_That was what we all saw._

_The bigger question here is why? Surely a young man trained as well as I’m sure Heir Malfoy is would not simply snap on a whim?_

_Lord Lucius Malfoy agrees with me at least. “We have not raised our son to act out in the way he did tonight,” the esteemed philanthropist told me in an exclusive interview late last night. “I would never assert we raised a perfect child, but I assure you, Draco would never act in such a way. There is doubtlessly foul play involved, likely by those who would enjoy seeing my reputation plummet, for legitimate reasons or otherwise.”_

_When pressed further on the issue, Lord Malfoy tentatively told me that he suspects a potion, but he was unwilling to point fingers._

_“The truth of the matter, Rita, is that I have no idea who did such a thing. It would be unbecoming of somebody of my status to go around accusing others with little evidence to support my accusations. The House of Malfoy will continue to look further into the investigation, but I shall not accuse others who may well be innocent. It would be the highest mark of disrespect.”_

_The lord in question also apologized on behalf of the house. As he put it, “Whether Draco was truly at fault matters not. A member of the House of Malfoy caused an unwanted disturbance at a major event, which is completely unacceptable and wholly disgraceful.”_

The article went on to hypothesize further, but Harry needed to read no more. He sat back, surrounded by his friends, minus Cassius, who was still asleep in the dorms. If not for Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle, who sat quite some way away, they would have been the only ones present at the long, Slytherin table. 

“You were definitely right earlier in the year about the paper changing its tune,” Blaise observed.

Harry nodded. “It definitely seems like they’re a lot more willing to listen to Lucius Malfoy.”

“Bought them off, probably,” Hestia said dismissively. 

“He may very well have,” Harry agreed. 

It was certainly possible. 

Whether or not that was what Lucius had done mattered very little. The only thing that did matter was that he had done it. Not that it was a surprise he had. The man had cunning in spades, that much was obvious. He’d quite literally guessed the cause for Draco’s irrational outburst perfectly, after all. For that alone, the man deserved a certain amount of credit.

_**The Past  
December 31, 1992  
Greengrass Manor  
11:09 PM** _

The moments following Draco’s seemingly random fit of rage were some of the most surreal that Harry had ever experienced. Not only for their absurdity, but also because he was feeling a heavy sense of déjà vu. The situation almost perfectly mirrored the one from the Weitts’s Samhain gathering during his first year. The night that Harry had framed Draco with the Serpensortia trick and the boy in question had been led off by his parents.

This was almost no different.

It didn't take long to subdue Draco, and he was promptly dragged from the hall by his parents, who proceeded to depart the manor. To Giaus Weitts’s credit- who’d been the intended target of much of the boy’s ire- he didn’t seem fazed. He didn’t even bother demanding compensation. Despite that, Harry hadn’t failed to notice the man’s obvious amusement when Lucius Malfoy, one of the most politically powerful men in the country, had been forced to practically grovel in front of him on behalf of his son and heir. Harry could hardly blame him. It had been rather amusing.

Unlike the year before, the festivities continued. They weren’t scheduled to last a whole lot longer anyway, but they did at least play out to their conclusions. When the ball itself had ended, Harry caught Daphne’s eye, and the meaning of his glance was obvious.

Five or so minutes later, he was with Daphne, Charlotte and Blaise in a locked and warded room down the hall. Harry had barely seen the latter boy for much of the night. Not since he’d left after dancing with Grace, at least. 

“Let’s just cut to the chase,” Harry began, “how the hell did you pull that off?” His question was very obviously directed towards Daphne. 

To her credit, she didn’t look at all flustered. On the contrary, she looked almost smug. “Nothing I say here leaves this room.”

Blaise snorted. “Shame, I was planning to run off to Lucius Malfoy at the first available opportunity.”

“Are you ever not sarcastic?” Charlotte sounded genuinely curious, and Harry couldn’t help but allow a small smile at the question, if only because he knew whatever Blaise answered with would inevitably be amusing.

Blaise had a perfect poker face as he answered. “Of course, dear. Any time anybody asks me that exact question.”

Charlotte sighed theatrically. “You’re impossible.”

Blaise looked affronted. “What? There’s no point in being sarcastic if the person expects it coming. That would be utterly ridiculous.”

“You’re saying your entire existence has been pointless then?”

“Of course not. Only the entirety of my existence that’s been spent talking to you lot.”

“If we’re finished,” Daphne said sharply, drawing the attention of the room back onto her. When all heads turned towards her once more, she straightened up. Harry recognized this as her lecturing posture. It was the stance she took on any time she was about to impart unknown knowledge upon those around her, usually that which pertained to Potions.

“Well, Charlotte knows the beginning of it.” The girl in question nodded, but Daphne merely continued. “Obviously, I said ages ago that I was going to get Malfoy for what he did to Tracey.” She looked at Harry. “You beat me to that, so I didn’t have the element of surprise anymore. So instead, I just thought I would wait until whatever I did would do a whole lot of damage.”

“You’ve accomplished it,” Charlotte said needlessly. “He was already losing support in Slytherin. This will probably be a mess for his family, and I doubt he’ll get much backing at all now.”

Daphne nodded. “That was the goal, yes. Anyway, I had one of my family’s house elves spike his drink with a basic Draught of Hate.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You took one of Giaus Weitts’s hairs?” The Draught of Hate was a potion that, like Polyjuice, hinged on another person’s hair. Except instead of allowing the drinker to transform into the person whose hair they’d stolen, it created irrationally powerful feelings of hatred towards that person.

“That was actually me,” Charlotte said with an oddly proud expression.

“Of course it was,” Harry muttered, rubbing at his temples. “Right, okay, you probably have the adorable grandchild thing going for you, so he probably didn’t comment even if he did notice.”

Charlotte’s gaze turned steely. “If you ever call me adorable again-“

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll rain fire down upon me and all the rest. How about we let Daphne to finish speaking first.”

Daphne looked intensely amused as Charlotte folded her arms, looking very cross for her part. Ignoring her oldest friend’s dilemma completely, Daphne pressed on. “Well, it was that simple, really. I knew he would never be able to land a spell on Lord Weitts, so I thought it was a fairly safe bet that way. Plus, it would trash Malfoy’s reputation, which is exactly what I was going for.”

Harry and Blaise exchanged concerned looks. “Harry, my dear fellow?” the dark skinned boy asked.

“Yes, Blaise?”

“Do put that outstanding memory of yours to use and remind me never to make that one angry? Her fangs have grown since last year. They’re more terrifying than adorable now.”

Harry couldn’t help but join his friends in a fit of laughter. 

_**Back in the present…** _

Harry and Blaise glanced at one another, obviously unable to say anything in the presence of the others. What was left unsaid was the obvious implications of Lucius Malfoy’s intellect. He’d deduced exactly what had happened. Then again, so had Harry almost immediately after the event had transpired, so he supposed it wasn’t all that surprising. 

This did confirm a theory of Harry’s though. A theory that meant there was one more thing he wanted from his ongoing negotiations with Lucius Malfoy. Which meant he had a letter to write to his solicitor. One that would have to be written very… carefully.

_**January 3, 1993  
The Slytherin Common Room  
7:27 PM** _

The rest of the school had just returned to the castle about an hour ago. Sans Ron Weasley, that is, who had apparently flooed home to his family now that his mother and father had returned from Europe. Exactly how long he would be absent from the castle was a mystery to just about everybody. Not even Ginny knew, for Merlin’s sake - and she was his sister.

For the first hour or so, Blaise and Harry had been catching up with the rest of their friends, all of whom had gone home for the duration of the holidays. Half of that time had been consumed by Pansy, talking at about a million miles a minute, nearly past coherence at the sheer idiocy displayed by Draco. According to her, the Malfoy Heir had received an ultimatum similar to the one Ronald Weasley had been given via howler back on their first day of lessons, though the wording had been slightly different.

Start acting like a Malfoy or your time at Hogwarts is over.

The difference was that, at least according to Pansy, if Lucius Malfoy pulled his son from Hogwarts, he wouldn’t be returning. He would inevitably be shipped off to one of the other major wizarding schools in Europe. Which meant he would either be heading to France and attending Beauxbatons, or…

“Does anyone actually know where Durmstrang is?” 

All of the purebloods looked from Harry, who’d asked the question, to each other before Pansy finally answered. “Not really, no. We just know it’s somewhere in Eastern Europe. Most people seem to think it’s up north somewhere, since their school uniforms are ridiculously heavy and warm.” 

“Yes, and some people think that’s just a ploy,” Blaise countered lightly. “A tactic to make others think the school is somewhere it isn’t.” 

Harry couldn’t help but notice how quiet Charlotte had been for the duration of that particular exchange. Her face was completely blank as well. He supposed it made sense. The Weitts family had only spent a couple of generations in Britain, at most. It was highly possible that Giaus, or perhaps even Adriana, had attended Durmstrang in their youth. If that was true, Charlotte probably knew exactly where the school was. It was equally likely that if that was the case, she was completely unable to say anything on the topic.

Another person who had been acting a bit strange since arriving had been Tracey. She’d been shooting frequent, furtive glances in Harry’s general direction, but had remained almost completely silent for the entire hour-plus discussion. Harry had a feeling he knew exactly what she wanted to talk to him about. With a slight jolt, he remembered what Emily had said about Natural Legilimency giving him small, conversational insights. He wondered if something like that was his natural affinity for the offensive half of the Mind Arts at work, and how much of it was his own natural intellect. 

He supposed it really didn’t matter either way. The important thing was that he did come to these revelations, not how he came to them. That was one thing Dumbledore did seem to have right, as much as Harry despised him, it was the actions that made a man. He’d publicly preached as such for years. As hypocritical as it might have been in the old man’s case, it was very true when applied on a more broad scale.

Eventually, Harry had to leave the common room. He and Grace had agreed that they would meet that night, despite it being her first night back at the castle. It was a Sunday. Sundays were the days they spent working diligently to improve Harry’s skill in Active Occlumency. With the suspicion of both Albus Dumbledore and Gilderoy Lockhart resting heavily upon his shoulders, Harry couldn’t help but feel as if mastering the defence of his own mind was more essential now than ever before.

He wasn’t terribly surprised when, about halfway down the first corridor on his way, his ring alerted him to a presence coming up behind him. Normally, this would worry him greatly, but he had expected to be followed. After all, he could read his friends quite well. Whether Legilimency had an impact or not was irrelevant.

“Evening, Tracey.”

“How did you know it was me?” the girl in question asked after catching up and matching his stride.

He looked pointedly towards her. “I sort of told you this during the summer at Daphne’s, but you’re not exactly the most subtle person in the world.”

She blushed. “What gave me away this time?”

“Nothing specific, actually.” He paused, rethinking that sentiment. “Well, there was one thing, I guess. You hardly said a word the entire time we were in the common room. I mean this in the best way possible, but you are not the quiet type.”

Her blush only grew deeper, something that amused Harry a fair bit more than it probably should have. Sometimes, he wondered exactly how Tracey had ended up in Slytherin House. 

She wasn’t the most cunning person he’d ever met in his life, if he was being completely honest with himself. She was certainly intuitive. She could read other people and conversations rather well and react accordingly. She was good with emotions, as she had told him in the summer, but he wouldn’t describe her as cunning. Certainly not in the same way as he, Blaise and Daphne. As for ambition… he actually had no idea. He wasn’t really sure what any of his friends wanted to do with their lives. He supposed they were only twelve. 

This thought only brought his mind back to his somewhat jarring conversation with Giaus Weitts, a conversation that had occupied much of his thoughts for the past seventy-two or so hours. He knew that at the moment, thinking about that conversation wasn’t going to be conducive to guiding him through this one. So with that in mind, he forcefully cleared his thoughts and looked impassively upon one of his best friends once more. 

“What is it, Tracey? Don’t get me wrong, I like talking to you, but last time you were this sneaky about it, It was a pretty… heavy conversation.”

“Is it really that obvious?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe, I don’t know. I might just be that perceptive, who knows.”

“Oh, you’re definitely that perceptive, but I’m still curious if it’s obvious.”

“Does it really matter? If I really am that perceptive, I was surely going to work it out either way, wasn’t I? Besides, you obviously want to talk with me. You wouldn’t have followed me out of the common room if you didn’t. So I doubt you’re complaining that I’ve figured it out in advance.”

“Merlin, Harry!” she exclaimed. “I know you’re trying to be helpful in your own way, but do you have any idea how jarring that is? How much it messes with your brain when the other person just seems to read your thoughts and know everything you’re thinking before you can even say it?”

He did, actually. That question gave him hard flashbacks to the Weitts’s Samhain gala. The one where he’d first met Charlotte properly. The one where he had first learned of the arts that were Occlumency and Legilimency.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know you might want to talk to me, but I have no idea what it’s going to be about.” 

That wasn’t true. He thought he actually knew exactly what this was about, but he didn’t say that. It was best to make Tracey more comfortable if he could. He was certainly about to be a whole lot less comfortable, emotional suppression or not. It was only right that she at least be calm for the duration of this conversation.

It didn’t seem to work. She didn’t say it, but Harry was reasonably certain she’d seen through his lie. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it, but that was the one problem with having sharp friends. They were rather more difficult to deceive. 

“How much time do you have?”

He shrugged. “Not a whole lot, actually.”

“I didn’t think you’d have much time, so I’ll try and make it quick. I just wanted to check in.” 

A long pause, and then finally, Tracey summoned up the courage to ask the question she had obviously been intent on asking ever since her arrival back at the ancient castle. “How are you feeling?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Tracey. I feel perfectly fine, at the moment.”

“You know what I’m talking about!” She didn’t sound angry. Just extremely exasperated and mildly frustrated. It wasn’t that Harry was trying to be an ass. He just sorely wanted to avoid this topic of conversation. He was pretty sure at this point his deflections, delays, and subversions were actually subconscious.

He sighed. “I had to think about this a lot, you know? Do you know who first told me they died, Tracey?” She shook her head. “Dumbledore. A day after he basically accused me of being the Heir of Slytherin, he told me that my uncle had been found dead. Then a couple of days later, he sent me a letter that told me my aunt had also been found dead in her own home.” Tracey had very obviously wanted to jump in when Harry said that Dumbledore suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin, but in light of the current topic of discussion, she had restrained herself.

“And,” Tracey asked, clearly putting in great effort to keep her voice calm and modulated. “What did you decide?”

“The same thing I’ve known all along. That I really don’t care.”

Tracey had doubtlessly expected a lot of things. Judging by the suddenly gobsmacked expression on her face, that hadn’t been one of them. 

“It’s like what I told Daphne last year. They don’t matter. I learned years ago to stop caring what they think about me, because it had no impact on my life. Once I learned that, my life got a whole lot easier. It’s like that here. They were never going to be important. I was never going back there. I already had plans in motion to make sure I never went back there. I wasn’t ever going to see them again, if I had it my way. I mean, I wasn’t exactly fond of them. Abuse and neglect for ten years didn’t exactly make me love them.

“I’m not trying to sound cold-hearted, or anything. I’m not happy they’re gone. I think they probably deserved to be punished, even though I didn’t care enough to do it myself, but I don’t know if they deserved to die for it. That seems a bit harsh, but again, I’m indifferent. It has no effect on me. If anything, I might feel a bit sorry for their son.” He made a face. “At least, I would if he hadn’t been such an utter prat for the entire time I knew him. I try not to hold it against him too much, but I’m not good at the whole forgiveness thing. It isn’t exactly like he had good role models growing up.”

Silence stretched on between them as Harry drew ever nearer to the suit of armour that served as the entrance to the hidden passage which would greatly expedite his journey to the abandoned classroom in which he practiced with Grace. 

He intended to ask her whether or not he could use the room on Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons to practice with Charlotte. He had no qualms in telling her about their arrangement, as it would actually show he was holding up his end of the bargain. He had no doubt she would happily agree, but he still wanted to ask. It would have been rather awkward if she’d barged into a practice with Charlotte halfway through.

Tracey briefly reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. As had become his common practice, Harry used occlumency to suppress any impulse to flinch, tense or pull away. 

“That’s a very mature answer,” she said with a small smile, evidently realizing he was nearing the place where he would split off from her. “Just know that I’m here if you need me.” 

He smiled back at her before ordering the suit of armour aside and vanishing into the secret passageway behind it. “Thanks, Tracey. I’ll remember, don’t worry.”

_**January 5, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:13 PM** _

Two nights later, Harry found himself locked up in the same room he often frequented with Grace. This time, it was not the older, but the younger of the two Weitts sisters who joined him in the room. He realized very quickly that he actually had no idea how good Charlotte was at duelling. She was very good at Charms and obviously prodigious in the Mind Arts, but that was about as far as he’d known.

Thus, he swiftly found himself locked in a mock duel with the youngest member of House Weitts in an effort to judge her abilities, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. 

She would have beaten any of his second-year friends easily. Not that Harry had an overly accurate gauge on any of them as duellists, but he had seen them duel at the one, and likely only meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club, and that had been enough.

Charlotte was good.

There was no doubt about it. There was a wide skill gap between her and himself, but that was to be expected. If her grandfather was to be believed, he was a genuine prodigy. He had also been trained by not only her older sister, but by Lady Voldemort herself. He wondered how she would fare against Nott, or even his brother. He doubted she would be able to beat Charlus as of yet. His brother may have been an idiot, but he was actually a very good duellist for their age.

Charlotte’s spell arsenal was a bit limited, but she was extremely talented at the limited amount of spells she knew and was very creative with them. She also knew the Stunning Spell, a rather impressive feat for a first-year student. On top of that, she was powerful. Very powerful. He could tell that from the get-go. Any time one of her spells flared against his shield, he could feel it groan in protest. It always held, but she packed a punch, to say the least.

Unfortunately, power was very far from everything, and her defence was nowhere near as sound as her offence, so Harry beat her quite thoroughly and without too much issue. 

“Merlin, you’re good,” she muttered after Harry tossed her back her wand. “I knew you were good and all, but… wow. Isn’t spell deflection like… really advanced?”

He shrugged. “Hurst — our Defence professor last year — was an absolutely brutal marker and was really hard on me in particular. I wanted an O+ and I thought spell deflection would do it.”

“Did it?”

Harry suppressed a smug smile. “It did, yes.”

“I wonder what it will take from Lockhart? He seems a pretty harsh marker.”

“Not compared to Hurst.”

“So not spell deflection, then.”

“I mean… it would definitely get you the grade, but it might be overkill.”

“Do you think I could learn it?”

“Probably. Legilimency might help out with that. You have to know the intent coming your way, so it would be useful that way as long as the person you’re duelling doesn’t know Occlumency. Probably dangerous to rely on it though. It would be a nasty shock if it suddenly didn’t work.” Charlotte nodded as Harry ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. “I think the hardest thing would be the actual batting of the spell. That part is a nightmare to get down. You have to be perfect.”

“I’m ready to try.”

Harry smiled amusedly. “Not yet.”

“But you said I-“

“Yes, you probably can learn it, but it would probably take ages and it’s definitely not a good place to start. Once you have other, more important things down, maybe we can work on spell deflection. First, let’s just start with a Protego shield. Aegis Vocar isn’t overly useful if you’re fighting anybody who knows anything more powerful than Expelliarmus, and your defence needs work.”

Charlotte winced. “Alright. Let’s get started then.”

Again, Harry felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Oh, how many times he’d said that since his integration into the magical world.

_**January 7, 1993  
The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom  
2:30 PM** _

Green eyes bored into blue as Harry and Lockhart had a rather intense staring match after the latter had once more instructed the former to stay behind after class. Of course, Harry was wary that Lockhart may try to legilimize him. The problem was that he couldn’t exactly look away without looking extremely guilty. He did suppress all emotion and keep his mind completely blank while constantly searching for any irregularities as they stared deep into the other’s eyes.

Emotional suppression had been an extremely valuable asset while working with Grace to develop basic, mental defences. A Legilimens would cling desperately onto emotion and warp it and use it to dive further into that person’s mind. By being able to crush all emotion with a thought, he was thereby providing the attacking Legilimens with one less avenue to exploit. There was also the fairly major benefit that, without emotions in the way to cloud your thoughts, detecting intrusions was much less difficult.

Finally, Harry became fed up with the posturing and just decided to push this along. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Potter.” Lockhart’s voice was quiet and deadly serious. “I know what you did to your brother.”

“If you know what I was accused of, surely you also know that my own father cleared me.”

Lockhart’s face twisted into something ugly. “Your brother isn’t the Heir of Slytherin, Potter-“

“No, he’s not. He is definitely not competent enough to make it this long without getting caught.”

“I am serious, Potter.”

“Yes, so am I. What’s your point?”

Lockhart’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

“Not really. I just know that no matter what I say or do, you’re going to think a certain way about me. Nothing I say or do is going to change that. I’ve met those types of people before, so why should I filter myself?” He looked pointedly at Lockhart. “For the record, I am comparing you to people who were neglectful and abusive for ten years. Not the greatest comparison, but accurate.” 

If nothing else, the Dursleys were one hell of a conversational weapon. It was a great way to throw people off-kilter. Harry had a hard time mentioning them at all, but with emotional control augmented by Occlumency, it was as easy as saying anything else. At least when he spoke of them in a clinical manner as he had done during this specific conversation.

“I am… sorry to hear that.” To the man’s credit, he genuinely sounded it, but he regained his gusto quickly enough. “Nevertheless, I won’t let guilt blind me. Your brother is not the Heir, yet he can speak to snakes. Do you know what one unique thing is about Parseltongue, Potter?”

“No, sir. I didn’t even know about Parseltongue until Charlus spoke to the snake. I was muggle raised. The only thing I knew was that Slytherin could speak to snakes.” 

His delivery was perfect. He could tell at once Lockhart would never believe it, but it wasn’t as if he could prove it, and plausible deniability was a valuable asset when being accused. Harry would know. He’d been accused of a vast number of ridiculous things in his life.

“Well, Parseltongue is hereditary. It passes down through bloodlines. Whether you know this about your family or not, they have always been secretive.”

“So you think because my brother can speak to snakes, so can I?” Lockhart’s expression made it very clear that much was supposed to be obvious. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I can’t speak to snakes. Can I leave now?”

Lockhart looked extremely annoyed, but with a fair bit of reluctance, he dismissed Harry, allowing him to leave the room with a completely blank expression. 

That man was far too suspicious for Harry’s liking.

Yet he did have a point. 

Obviously, the Potters had hidden some sort of blood connection to Slytherin. Harry was currently more worried about continuing to progress in magic, but he would be tracking that down one day.

One never knew the door something like that could potentially open in the future.

_**Later that night, in Gilderoy Lockhart’s office…** _

Gilderoy Lockhart was frustrated.

For one thing, this whole Chamber of Secrets business was a mess. It wasn’t as if he wanted it to be Potter. He would much prefer a twelve-year-old boy not be responsible, and he would happily apologize to the boy in question if he was wrong, he just really didn’t think he was.

All of the evidence, granted, limited evidence, pointed in Harry Potter’s direction with large, flashing arrows. If the obvious similarities between the boy in question and the tall, dark-haired woman who would one day become Lady Voldemort were influencing his thought process, so be it.

But that wasn’t what had Gilderoy Lockhart frustrated.

Well, it was certainly frustrating, but it wasn’t at the top of his list of concerns, at least. 

That would be Charlus Potter. What a mess that was.

Gilderoy Lockhart had one, singular goal in life. 

That goal would be exponentially more difficult to achieve if the supposed saviour of Magical Britain was inept. That was clearly the case based on recent events. He was magically powerful, reasonably skilled, if not prodigious, but inept in other areas.

That would not do.

Gilderoy had planned months ago to intervene no later than Samhain. He had become suitably distracted by all of the business pertaining to the Heir of Slytherin, but he would no longer allow that to be the case.

It was time to do something about the Boy-Who-Lived’s many ineptitudes. 

_**January 8, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
8:00 PM** _

Harry’s first week of class in the new year had been extremely busy, but the hassle of the week had ensured it passed quickly. Adding an extra commitment- that being to train Charlotte in combat magic on Tuesday’s, and have her train him in Legilimency on Thursday’s- had just made his schedule all the more hectic. 

Granted, they hadn’t actually started on Legilimency this week. Charlotte had apparently taken out a book from her family library and wanted to do some studying before starting that practice. Legilimency had always come rather easily to her, as she had put it. She wanted to ensure she actually knew what she was doing as a teacher first, especially since he was not, as of yet, a stage three Occlumens.

Tonight was another one of his commitments: combat training with Grace. If what she’d said on Sunday was to be believed, they would be starting something quite major tonight, so he was looking forward to it. It was also, if he had his way, going to be the night he finally asked her opinion on the dark magic debate.

As he’d expected, she was already waiting for him. “How has your first week back been?” she asked once he had taken a seat across from her.

“Same as ever, really. I did coach Charlotte in combat magic for the first time on Tuesday though.”

“How did that go?”

“Pretty well, I think. I don’t really know what I’m doing as a teacher, so I just hope it all works out. I had a quick mock duel at the beginning - like you did with me - and noticed that her offence was actually pretty good. Her defence was a bit sloppy though, so I decided to start with the Protego shield.”

Grace nodded approvingly. “Very advanced for a first year, but not impossible to learn and it will give her an immediate advantage against anyone her age.”

“Those were my thoughts as well. It was one of the first things I focused on last year once I read up on it.”

“I approve.” She paused. “Speaking of things far above grade level, I’ve decided to try and teach you something that is way beyond what most your age should technically be able to do.”

“What’s that?

“Non-verbal spell casting.”

Harry leant back in his chair, bewilderment evident in his expression. “Isn’t that… N.E.W.T level magic?”

“It is.”

“And you think I can do it?”

“Not right away but with practice, yes, I think you can absolutely do it.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair; a habit of his whenever stressed, anxious, or overly thoughtful. “What makes you think I can do it as a second year?”

“For one thing, it isn’t as difficult as people make it out to be. For another, you already can do it for spell deflection.”

“Yes, but that’s one spell.”

“That part is irrelevant. If you can do it for one spell, it means the capability is there. There’s no reason why, with practice, of course, you shouldn’t be able to do it for other spells as well.”

She had a point there. It was logical, if nothing else. Not that Harry was really in a position to say one way or the other. His knowledge on non-verbal spell theory was practically non-existent. 

“Care to explain why it’s so much harder to cast magic without an incantation?”

“There are two main reasons. There is a concept that is never taught at Hogwarts. Some call it the four pillars of magic. We don’t need to go into that in detail, but for a spell to work, there are four things you need. The power to cast the spell, which is usually a minimal and basically a redundant requirement. The understanding of the spell. The necessary intent to cast the spell, and the creativity to envision the desired results. 

“It’s the fourth one that’s affected most directly. Visualization is usually something many struggle with because incanting a spell aloud greatly decreases the need for visualization. The exception for this is in Transfiguration. You still need to visualize the results quite intensely, but not even close to as much as you would need to if you weren’t speaking an incantation.

“The other reason also pertains to visualization, as well as overall focus. Our brain is a thing of habits and cues. For example, if somebody is to forget something, you might cue them by saying other things related to it.” Harry nodded. 

“By associating an incantation with a spell, it makes it easier to pull up the visualized image and the intent. By saying the incantation, it cues your brain to pull the image and intent forward. It’s the same for channeling magic. All of this focus, imagery and intent, is how you end up channeling the magic in the specific way needed. Again, with an incantation based cue, your body- which is obviously connected to your brain- is prompted intuitively to channel the magic in the way it remembers. When you take incantations away, you lose all of those advantages.”

Harry bit his lip. “If I admit something to you for the sake of asking a question, can you promise me you won’t go spreading it around?” 

Grace looked pointedly towards him, almost appearing exasperated. “If it isn’t obvious by now, which it should be, you can tell me anything. I won’t go telling anyone your secrets, and there are very few people in the world who could take them from my mind.”

Harry took a deep breath. It really wasn’t even a major admission. It was just conceding an advantage he might have by not admitting it. The element of surprise. Of the person opposite him not knowing that he would remember every word they said. But he could trust Grace. She had proven that much to him. 

“I have a very good memory. As in a near eidetic memory.”

Grace looked thoughtful. “And you’re wondering if this will make learning non-verbal spell casting easier?” He nodded. “I would say it probably would. Your mind would take far less cueing naturally, so learning it might be easier. You also have your Occlumency. Keep your mind clear and the intent will flow more easily.” She paused. “That’s another subskill you should invest some time into. It’s the only other one that level two has to offer, and it is much easier than the first one you learned.”

“What’s that?”

“Compartmentalization. Basically, it just means you can organize your thoughts. It helps people with memory recall, which obviously isn’t useful for you. What would be useful for you is that you can organize your mind so that it flows more quickly. It isn’t giving you a boost in intellect, per se. just making your thoughts more clear, less diluted. You’ll be able to make connections more quickly. You actually sort of start doing it naturally around where you’re at right now anyway, but not to the same extent as if you focus on it.” He nodded again. He would read up on it later- as well as ask Emily for any shortcuts she might know of. “Are you ready to begin?”

An hour or so later, Harry had still been completely unsuccessful in the endeavour. Grace was hardly surprised. As she reminded him, it was much higher-level magic than he’d been learning so far. It would also be extremely useful and grant him a massive advantage over most students in the school if he could master it. That was another thing she didn’t fail to remind him of. He would give her one thing — she knew how to motivate him.

With their core lesson complete, Harry finally decided it was time to ask the question he had been meaning to ask her for so long. “Grace?”

“Yes?”

“What are your thoughts on dark magic?”

She suddenly looked rather pensive. “Be more specific. I think you can guess my stance on the Ministry banning things they classify as dark.”

“The whole idea of being addicted to dark magic.”

She studied him. “I’m not the first person you’ve asked this question to.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. 

“You’re not,” he admitted.

She looked thoughtful. “I’m going to assume you know the main points already then and just briefly confirm what you probably already know. It is completely rubbish. Casting extremely powerful magic causes a bit of a rush. The Ministry bans plenty of these spells because, frankly, they’re not equipped to deal with them. The only other way ‘dark magic’ can be addictive,” she drew air quotes around the words, “is if you cast on pure emotion. 

“It’s like what I told you with cues. If you train your brain to associate a negative emotion with casting a spell, of course it’s going to be dangerous to cast that spell. I think witches and wizards should be free to learn almost any magic they like, so long as their mind is prepared to handle it.” She gave him a pointed look. “And before you ask, yes, I think your mind is ready to handle it.”

He didn’t fail to notice how she had worded that last statement. Almost all magics. He wondered what magic Grace viewed as so harmful it should be left well enough alone. Idly, his mind strayed towards Chaos Magic, but he had no way of knowing whether or not Grace even knew of it. For obvious reasons, he wasn’t about to ask.

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster’s office…** _

“Ah, Charlus, please sit down. We have much to discuss.” Charlus swiftly complied, taking the now familiar seat across from the Hogwarts Headmaster. “I must congratulate you on managing to stay out of trouble for an entire week. After the cluster of chaos that comprised your final days of term, in addition to the fiasco on the evening of December twenty-fifth, I think it an accomplishment worthy of acknowledgement.”

Charlus flushed. “I’m sorry about all of that, sir.”

“Nonsense, my dear boy. The only occurrence you need to be apologetic for is the most recent one pertaining to Polyjuice Potion. It is very illegal to be caught with possession of that particular potion. Why, I believe your father is being charged by Lords Carrow and Warrington on your behalf as we speak.”

Charlus choked. “He… what?”

“Indeed. They could have sought punishment for you, but it appears they may be more interested in financial payment. After the exorbitant amounts of gold they spent on Lady Voldemort’s campaign during the Purity War, I cannot say I am entirely surprised.” Charlus looked down at his hands, suddenly rather ashamed of his actions. “Beyond that, there are a multitude of things that could have gone horribly wrong whilst brewing that potion. I am sure young Miss Granger can vehemently attest to that.” 

It was true. That botched transformation due to mistakenly using a cat hair had been problematic to say the least. It hadn’t worn off as normal after the full hour had elapsed, and it had taken a fair bit of effort on the part of Madam Pomfrey to reverse it at all.

“Is my father upset with me, sir?”

“He is certainly not pleased, but he can hardly judge you too harshly. What with the exploits he and his group of marauding friends got up to while they resided in these walls. No, I would say a more apt sentence would be that your father is mildly disappointed in you.” 

That was so much worse. He wondered if Dumbledore knew that, knew what kind of impact the precise wording of that sentence would have on the youth in front of him.

“Alas,” the old man continued, “I did not call you into my office to lecture you on the shortsightedness of youth. I have a more serious matter I would like to discuss with you.”

Charlus felt his stomach contract. More serious than illegal possession of Polyjuice Potion? Merlin, this was going to be a long meeting. “W-what is it you wanted to speak to me about, sir?”

“The mental instability that was brought on by your misguided foray into the Dark Arts.” 

Ah… that. Charlus hated his brother for that. Hated him for leading him down that path just as much as he hated him for potentially being the Heir of Slytherin. “What about it, sir?”

“Though I am confident you are no longer pursuing that particular area of magic, I have no doubt that the damage has been done, to an extent. It also exposed a rather blatant weakness that I think is unwise to be allowed to persist. Least of all when considering your public standing- and the myriad of people who would doubtlessly wish to manipulate your mind in the future- be it through direct or indirect methods.”

“I… don’t understand, sir?”

“No,” Dumbledore said heavily, “I am sure you don’t.” He studied Charlus intensely. “Have you ever heard of Occlumency, Charlus?”

_**Hours later, on the second floor…** _

Invisible and completely undetectable to all but the most skilled wielders of magic, the Heir of Slytherin crept stealthily along a corridor near the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor.

Of course, there were other ways she could have entered the Chamber that would have required less of a walk, but Emily Riddle needed to think.

Merlin, how nice it was to have cognitive thought once more. Thinking coherently while controlling another’s body was no small feat. Doing one was difficult enough. Combining the two of them was an accomplishment in and of itself.

But of course, it was no problem for her. Nothing involving magic had ever been a problem for her.

It was why, one day, Emily had no doubts she would be the greatest wielder of magic the world had ever seen. The path had changed now, of course. She had planned to accomplish this in the 1940s as opposed to the 90s, but she would take what she could get.

First things first, she needed to get her own body back.

Just because she could move in this body didn’t mean it was ideal by any stretch of the imagination. It limited her greatly, and that wouldn’t do.

But she could not rush.

One at a time, the pieces would fall into place.

As a matter of fact, she was off to set one up now, but when the piece fell, it would accomplish more than any before it had.

Not only would it push her one step closer to true resurrection, but it would realign the board in a way that she might cross without peril. Realign the board in a way that, with future, precise movements, she might begin to sate much of the curiosity that had been eating her alive for the better part of the school year. 

Yes, Emily Riddle was a very curious person. This was only often a pity for those few, rare individuals who managed to hold her undivided attention.

__**January 10, 1993**  
The Dungeons  
8:00 PM 

Harry tried to pull his racing thoughts under control as he neared the room for yet another session with Grace. He’d promptly split from Daphne and Charlotte- who had been walking with him from the Great Hall- not only because of his fast-approaching obligation, but also because he didn’t trust the latter not to glean part of what he was feeling.

He had received a letter at dinner, a letter that made him feel all kinds of ways.

A letter from Peter Pettigrew.

One assuring Harry that he, Peter, didn’t think it at all possible that Harry was responsible for any of the atrocities that he was being suspected of. He even went as far as to call the very notion of such things “completely ludicrous.”

To most people, this would have been reassuring.

But not for Harry.

Harry knew what Peter had done, for there could be nobody else who had twisted Charlus’s mind and set him up so perfectly in the closing days of Hogwarts’s opening term.

Which meant two things.

Peter Pettigrew was lying. Which, in turn, meant that all of Harry’s suspicions about the man had been true.

He had been manipulating him all along, and Harry needed to tread more carefully around Peter Pettigrew than ever before.

_**Meanwhile, on the ground floor...** _

Daphne marched quickly and assuredly towards the library, cursing the name of Gilderoy Lockhart. Defence had never been her best subject as it was. She was good at it, but not fantastic. The man made it so much more difficult by being such a stickler for theory, which meant now, she had to split from Charlotte- who had been on her way to ask Professor Flitwick about an extracurricular Charms project- and head to the library alone.

And though Daphne couldn’t know it, it also meant she was now perfectly in position.

Well, she did know it, actually, just far too late to prevent it.

She knew it when she walked around the very next corner, hearing nothing of what awaited her in advance. 

She froze where she stood, immediately succumbing to nothingness as she peered directly into a large pair of bulging, yellow eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I did call it Extreme Escalations for a reason… It might have been a rather short chapter, but I would like to think its impact makes up for that fact.**
> 
> **I will soon clarify a ton pertaining to the last scenes and others before it, so don’t pass judgement upon my soul quite yet.**
> 
> **Next: The nuclear fallout of Daphne Greengrass’s sudden disappearance leaves chaos in its wake. It seeks to disrupt not only our protagonist, but the very world itself. This fallout is so volatile, in fact, that it nearly brings the nation to its knees.**
> 
> **...and that was all before the Heir of Slytherin delivered their chilling ultimatum.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 28th, 2020. Or you can join my Discord server and/or support me on Patreon and read the next chapter right now. The direct, clickable links are both in the Notes at the top of the chapter.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and Discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	25. Extreme Escalations Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**January 11, 1993  
The Great Hall   
8:47 AM** _

Harry’s eyes roamed once more over both the Slytherin table and the Great Hall at large. They’d been at breakfast for some time now. The post had arrived almost half an hour earlier, yet there was still no sign of Daphne.

She was never late. 

That wasn’t to say she was the brightest beam of sunshine every morning when forced to rise early — the joys of obligations pressed upon her by the necessity of education — but she was never late.

She was far too proper for that. 

The importance of being on time had probably been one of the very first things of significance she had ever been taught as a child. Even if that hadn’t been the case, Harry put a fair amount of stock in such things as historical precedence. He could never remember a time in which Daphne had been late to anything, let alone breakfast. When taking his exceptional memory into account, that meant it had never happened.

Which logically meant something about today was different, and not knowing exactly what had Harry on edge. Really, on edge was a fairly mild term to describe how he felt. His nerves were fried, and adrenaline was coursing through his veins. It was as if he were a hungry lion being poked and prodded by a stick, practically being dared to snap at anything within reach. That was the nearest comparable example he could think of when trying to articulate his current temperament.

What made the entire situation all the worse was that neither Tracey nor Pansy had seen her at all that morning. It was true that normally, this would be only slightly troubling. Daphne usually slept with minor, temporary wards around her bed anyway, wards she’d likely learned before ever attending Hogwarts. As abnormal as it may have been, it wouldn’t have been too troubling had she just slept in through her alarm and missed breakfast.

It would have been an oddity, and Harry’s paranoia would have doubtlessly been piqued, but he wouldn’t likely feel quite as worried as he did at present.

What made this situation so concerning was that there were no wards around her bed at all. Minutes earlier, he’d sent Pansy back to the dorm to check the bed itself. She had just returned, suddenly looking rather worried herself. Daphne hadn’t been there, and neither had the wards, which only made the list of possible places she could be all the smaller. 

Especially these days, with a supposed Heir of Slytherin and a possible monster looming in the many shadows of Hogwarts castle, hiding in their dark patches just out of sight until the moment was most opportune for them to strike.

They would have to report Daphne missing. 

There was no other way around it. And if she didn’t show up… Harry wasn’t exactly sure what he would do. 

Murder the Heir of Slytherin if he ever came across them. That much was obvious. If Daphne had indeed vanished, given what she’d caused at Malfoy manor less than two weeks prior, he knew who his first culprit would be.

But beyond that… Harry wasn’t sure.

He cherished all of his friends, but Daphne was probably his closest. She was the one whom he’d confided in, told things about himself he had still never uttered to any other. She had promised to be his compass, and in his current shaky state, he thought he would need that compass more than ever.

Yet part of him already knew what the professor’s search would turn up.

Harry had a bad feeling about all of this. If for no other reason than the fact the universe seemed to enjoy using him as its punching bag. It didn’t seem to need a reason, nor had it at all cared when he had done his best to stay clear of any drama this year.

Because why oh why would it just allow him a simple year at Hogwarts?

Naturally, that would have been much too easy.

_**That afternoon, in the staff room…** _

Sundays were the days typically enjoyed by much of the Hogwarts staff. There was never a day off per se, what with the hundreds of underaged witches and wizards residing in the castle at all hours of the day. Yet Sundays were the closest they came. Obviously, there were no classes on a Sunday, and most teachers used the day prior to get as much of their marking and whatnot done as possible.

Sunday was supposed to be the day they all did as little as possible. Sure, they would go on their obligatory rounds and the like, but to expect any of them to do anything beyond the bare minimum was an unrealistic expectation.

This was one of the reasons all of them were in such a terrible mood this particular Sunday afternoon.

Their day had been a lot of things, but relaxing most certainly wasn’t one of them.

Not with all of them frantically scouring every inch of the castle in search of a girl who now appeared to be the most recent victim of the Heir of Slytherin. The school had even gone into temporary lockdown while the teachers searched every nook and cranny they could find. The students were only to be let out of the common room after this meeting and, even then, many of the staff wondered exactly how long their student’s ability to wander freely would last.

Whoever or whatever was causing mysterious instances at Hogwarts, whether it be the Heir of Slytherin or not, had escalated things — that much was clear. It had been horrible enough when Mrs. Norris had been hung from a torch bracket. Worse still when three Gryffindors had vanished in five weeks.

But this was disastrous on a whole other level.

Colin Creevey had been a muggleborn boy. They’d reached out to his parents, but they could do little more than that. As terrible as the situation was, its implications were actually rather minor, if one looked at the situation clinically and objectively. 

Relatively, the same thing could be said for the disappearance of the Weasley twins. 

They were purebloods, which had certainly caused an unexpected stir, but the Weasleys weren’t overly powerful either, from a political point of view. They were also rather close to the Hogwarts Headmaster, who had vehemently promised the family that their twins would turn up and urged them not to look too deeply into the matter.

But this strike had been different.

Daphne Greengrass was no muggleborn. Nor was she the daughter of an Ancient House that had largely fallen out of favour over the past century. She was the heiress to one of the few remaining Founding Houses in Britain. That same family also just so happened to be one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the country, as well as co-leaders of one of the nation’s three major political factions.

This wasn’t to say that the staff valued Daphne Greengrass above the notorious Weasley twins, nor even the relatively unknown muggleborn boy with the mousy hair and obnoxious, muggle camera.

All of this was to say that — unlike the strikes that had come before it — this attack, or disappearance, or whatever it would end up being categorized as was going to have far-reaching implications; implications that stretched far beyond the walls of Hogwarts castle. Implications that would dwarf the unease that seemed to seep from every brick and being in the ancient boarding school. This wouldn’t just shake the castle. This would rock the country to its core, and who knew what the implications would be for the aforementioned castle itself.

The person who likely had the best idea was the person who, at that exact moment in time, strode solemnly through the staff room door, nodding once at the entirety of the staff collected before him as he took his seat at the head of the table and waited for the metaphorical pin to drop. 

He didn’t have to wait long. 

An outpouring of questions doused him, but Dumbledore simply stayed calm, allowing the tide to roll harmlessly off him as he waited for the frantic flock of professors to take his hint and fall silent. The only ones who hadn’t immediately pounced with questions were Professors Snape and Lockhart, and the former sneered openly at his peers as he waited for them to quiet. 

Only when all at the table had caught on to Dumbledore’s unspoken plea for silence did the venerable man speak at long last. The last time they had heard his voice so solemn had been the night of Samhain, nineteen-ninety-one. The night Terence Higgs met his end at the jaws of a monster whose presence in the school Dumbledore himself had authorized. That fact alone spoke to the importance of this moment, and even Lockhart — the only teacher present who hadn’t been present on that fateful night — knew exactly how high the stakes currently were.

“I doubt the need to impress upon you exactly how grave the situation at hand has become.” All around the table nodded. “After I leave this meeting, I shall need to inform Lord Greengrass of what has happened today. The ramifications of this correspondence will be cataclysmic in their scale. I very much expect a full, emergency meeting of the Wizengamot to be called as soon as the man can rally his allies, and there are a vast number of things that could stem from such a meeting.”

“Could they force our closure, Albus?” 

Albus looked upon his deputy with a frown. “They will doubtlessly push for this, at least until Heiress Greengrass has been recovered. They will doubtlessly push for a vast number of things, but that does not mean said things will come to fruition. What I do think possible is the request for a change in leadership.” 

A wave of unrest swept over the gathered professors. None of them were overly optimistic as is. The news that anybody could possibly be pushing for the greatest among them to be removed, in what was perhaps the school’s greatest time of need in Dumbledore’s time as headmaster, was more than a little bit troubling to all gathered. 

“But surely they can’t?” Professor Sprout asked worriedly. “Surely they must know what would happen if you were to leave the castle, Albus?”

“Oh, they certainly will not be successful. At least not in the short term. The Wizengamot, for all of its illusions of authority, does not have the power to assign professors, let alone headmasters. The ability to force my removal rests solely in the hands of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. While Lucius Malfoy will doubtlessly try to weaken the faith the board so generously puts in me, I doubt he will be overly successful. It is, however, a crack. Not immediately troubling, but prone to further weathering if the great storm continues. 

“I warn you not for what might happen in the coming days, but for what might happen in the coming months, for I fear we stand not near the crest of a long, steep hill we’ve already climbed; but at the foot of a most trying precipice, one that will doubtlessly be exceedingly difficult to scale.”

All of the teachers, minus Snape and Lockhart, looked grim. Most were also noticeably paler than usual.

“That is not to say,” Dumbledore continued, “that there will not be some changes in the short term. The Wizengamot does have certain legal powers, after all. I have little doubt they will do everything in their power to impose as much order upon the castle as they can in hopes that it will slow down the mysterious Heir of Slytherin.”

“You think the perpetrator to be who they claim to be?” It was Snape who spoke. His voice was thoughtful, hollow, and quiet.

“Oh, I have no doubt they are who they claim to be. How they are making students disappear in the dead of night, I do not know. Yet, I had no idea how students were being petrified fifty years ago, the last time an alleged Heir of Slytherin claimed to have opened Salazar’s fabled chamber. Alas, despite the differing circumstances, I am left to believe the same thing as fifty years ago. I doubt what is happening now would be possible if this person was not who they claimed.” He frowned deeply. “I also think, in light of the obvious secrets at their disposal, that putting a stop to this madness may not be possible any time soon.

“This is why I warn you, my friends. This is why I warn you to brace yourself for what is to come. As morbid as things may seem now, I have an ominous feeling they will worsen before they improve.” 

What Dumbledore didn’t say aloud was that the last time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, it had only ever been closed because Emily Riddle had essentially taken pity on the lot of them. Sure, it had been the threat of the school closing that had forced her hand, but he doubted whether they would have ever managed to stop her.

It was a card he could play if need be. Threaten the closure of the school and wait to see if the attacks stopped once more.

But two things made that option too troubling to ever be allowed to happen.

One was that if Emily was responsible, she was more than likely acting through another. Harry Potter was his top suspect, but it could easily be some other child in the castle. If this was true, she might not be so merciful upon hearing that news. It might not bring her the same dread it had as a teen. On the contrary, it might prompt her to become more aggressive, which was potentially opportune, but it also had the prospect of being completely disastrous, especially when one didn’t even know how she was committing said atrocities.

That wasn’t even considering the fact that if she was inhabiting another’s body once more, the potential ramifications of closing the castle and letting her roam in the outside world could be cataclysmic.

The other, slightly less noble hesitation was more strategic.

The longer he kept the school open, the longer he allowed her to play her game. That was dangerous, but it also meant more time for her to make a mistake. More time for him to see whether any of his more… troubling suspicions were correct. 

Oh, and more time to possibly find the Chamber of Secrets and exactly what lurked within, of course, but Albus would much rather have some other suspicions of his confirmed if truth was to be told.

Their implications would stretch far further than the Scottish highlands if any of them were proven correct.

_**Meanwhile, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

Charlotte would have been taken aback by the majesty of the room around her had she not been just as tense as Blaise and Tracey, the only other two people present. Harry had let them in some time ago with the simple instruction to stay put. If Charlotte’s memory served her correctly, it was the first time Harry had ever issued any blunt orders in her presence. Nevertheless, the three of them had swiftly complied and Harry had vanished.

That had been quite some time ago.

The three of them were presently all waiting anxiously exactly where he’d left them. Charlotte would have been awed by the mere existence of this room, a room that was supposedly called the Speaker’s Den; one that she hadn’t known existed until earlier that day. Yet the surprise was overshadowed by the larger, much more significant news that had rocked her world earlier that day — her best friend had disappeared without a trace.

That was also only part of the reason why the three gathered Slytherins were tense. The other was that none of them had any idea how Harry would react.

Last year, he’d tried to ruin Malfoy’s reputation for landing Tracey in a vast number of detentions. Earlier this year, he had brutalized Malfoy in the middle of the common room for using the word “mudblood”. It wasn’t even that Harry lost control. He did do that sometimes while in the middle of his revenge, but the plotting was usually done with a relatively clear mind. It was just the fact that Harry could be a vindictive bastard when he wanted to be.

But when he did eventually lose control, like he had done in the middle of the Malfoy incident… it was a sight to behold.

It was highly possible they were about to see another instance of this. If that was indeed the case, they had good reason to be nervous. Not for themselves. Harry would never lash out at any of them, but they could only imagine what he could come up with, let alone how he might react.

There was another concern Charlotte had. One that she couldn’t confirm the validity of without knowing a lot more about things she currently only suspected about Harry. Things she had basically promised not to go investigating while in one of the dungeon’s abandoned classrooms when discussing Milicent Bulstrode and her possible connection to Mulciber and Jugson, as well as potentially older students. 

That thought caused anger to bubble inside her, but Charlotte eased it back down. There was no need for that now. She would take revenge on Mulciber and Jugson soon. The timing just hadn’t been right, in fact, it was currently worse than ever.

The wall connecting the hidden room to the rest of the dorms slowly slid aside. None of them could actually see Harry; a reality that drew the widening of all three present pairs of eyes, but they could hardly imagine it being anyone else. Sure enough, once the wall slid shut behind him, Harry himself seemed to materialize in front of all of them. 

Charlotte shivered. She’d seen that look in his eyes only twice before. Once had been seconds before he’d ruthlessly pounded Malfoy into the floor in front of the entirety of Slytherin House. The other time had been when he’d burst through the door just as Mulciber was about to butcher her with that damned, cursed blade.

Despite the morbid mood of the room, Tracey obviously couldn’t help but ask the first question that sprang to her lips. “Wow! You were invisible! How’d you do that?”

Harry waved the question aside, and Charlotte couldn’t help but notice how heavily and shallowly he was breathing. It was very unnatural, and it only raised her suspicions further, her hand drifting just a little bit closer to her wand.

“Ring, but it doesn’t matter.”

Tracey gawked. “I thought it only-“

“Not important, Tracey! Merlin! We have bigger problems right now.” 

Tracey shut her mouth quickly. Charlotte too was blown away by the implications of Harry’s jewelry being able to render him invisible. She, however, knew exactly how unwise it would be to speak at the present moment in time. 

That look was not one worn by any who should ever be trifled with.

“She’s actually gone.” His voice came out in little more than a whisper, but Charlotte couldn’t help but think he looked positively demented. Everything about his expression screamed mentally unstable, and she knew now with complete certainty what was about to happen.

“You d-don’t mean?” Tracey’s question was obvious, but she clearly couldn’t will herself to speak anything that might imply Daphne’s fate was sealed.

“I don’t know!” Harry slammed his fist hard on the table as these words escaped him. He sounded wounded and deranged and looked even worse. He started visibly shaking as his breathing sped up and his skin paled. His eyes visibly glazed over before they clamped shut and he collapsed to the floor, twitching madly as if he were seeing things none of the other three could see.

Tracey screamed his name, but Charlotte barely registered the sound. 

She was on her feet at once, wand drawn as she marched towards Harry. Zabini had clearly had the same idea, though instead of a wand, he was holding a familiar-looking vial of potion. Charlotte hadn’t even seen him withdraw it. She had no idea where he might have pulled it from, nor did she care.

“Don’t waste your time, Zabini.” She tried to push him out of the way as she spoke, but the much larger boy didn’t so much as budge.

“It’s a calming draught, Weitts. Don’t be so damn-“

“I’m not paranoid and I know exactly what it is! I’m not an idiot, Zabini, and just because I’m a first year does not mean you know more than me.” She could tell he was practically itching to bite back with something, but she never gave him the chance. 

“It isn’t just a normal panic attack. He’s been training in Occlumency. I’ve known that for ages. There’s a point during the creation of permanent Occlumency reflexes where the person’s ‘shields’ are unstable, since those ‘shields’ are only just trying to work more often than when the person calls on them.”

Clearly, she wasn’t the only one in the room conscious who had been trained in the Mind Arts. Zabini’s eyes had widened. “Fanculo!” Charlotte didn’t speak Italian, but she got the gist. “I’m an idiot! That’s how he’s been so controlled lately. The damned stage two subskill.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so well-educated when it came to the Mind Arts.”

“I have to keep a lot of secrets. Family business. You of all people should understand.”

“Oh, I do. Which is exactly why you’re going to get out of my way and let me fix this.”

“Weitts, the calming draught is the best option. We force it into him and once he calms down he can reconstruct his ‘shields.’ It will take time — maybe a week, but they’ll be back to where they are now by then.”

“Or, we get a Legilimens who actually knows how to reconstruct ‘shields’ to help him through the process and fix them in a few minutes. It would probably knock him unconscious, but it would be a much better solution.” 

If Tracey was hearing any of this, she didn’t comment on their proverbial sparring match. She was knelt over Harry, trying to gently rouse him from whatever panic attack had ensued.

A panic attack that was likely amplified tenfold by the fact that his ‘shields’ had suddenly and forcefully collapsed. 

Doubtlessly, he’d been doing his best to suppress all emotions pertaining to Daphne. Now, all of them would be crashing down upon him with amplified force, since the build-up would only worsen their effects. Not to mention anything else he’d been suppressing at the time. That plus a natural panic attack due to the situation… 

Charlotte shuddered internally.

Blaise scoffed as he ground his teeth together. “I’m aware of this, Weitts. But seeing as we don’t have a Legilimens just casually on hand-” Charlotte cleared her throat as she straightened, looking every bit the polished pureblood she’d been raised to be. 

Blaise just sighed. “Of course you’d be a Merlin forsaken Legilimens. Sure, why the hell not?” he muttered. “I’m guessing you know how to reconstruct basic ‘shields’ then?” She nodded and he reluctantly stepped aside. “Just… please don’t make a mistake.”

“Not planning on it,” were the last words Charlotte spoke to Blaise before she shoved Tracey out of the way, hard, and immobilized Harry with her wand. It was the only way. If he was twitching like a madman, this would be a whole lot more difficult.

Gently, Charlotte reached forward and pulled one of his eyelids open. She technically didn’t need eye contact, but for something she’d never actually attempted before… it was better safe than sorry.

“Legilimens!”

Charlotte’s presence slid effortlessly into Harry’s mind. As she had suspected, his ‘shields’ had completely collapsed, and the rest of his Occlumency measures had gone with them. They could be reconstructed to the exact level they’d collapsed at fairly quickly and without much issue. Harry was just at a point where his “shields” were beginning to work around the clock as opposed to on command. This was a major step in one’s Occlumency progression, but it was also a particularly unstable one, at least in the beginning.

The upside of his shields being shattered was that she had no problem at all easing into his mind. Not that they would have troubled her much anyway, but the experience — though still unpleasant — would be far less unpleasant for Harry this way. She only hoped he’d forgive the intrusion into his mind. She was technically breaking her promise not to do just that, but it was with his health and safety in mind that said promise was being broken.

As soon as she did enter his mind, she had to firmly clamp down on her own Occlumency.

Merlin, that was a whirlwind of emotions. It was no wonder his Occlumency had collapsed. Emotional suppression was obviously something he’d only gotten the hang of rather recently, and if he had tried to suppress all of this…

Layers of panic were only the beginning. There was also fury, frustration, self-hatred, regret and, above all else — helplessness. Charlotte internally shuddered at the last emotion. Yes, he would be intimately familiar with it if this much of it was constantly bubbling at the forefront of his mind. To think she had once told him he wouldn’t understand.

Memories began to flash past her mind. She mentally cursed. She hadn’t meant to grasp that feeling of helplessness. She’d allowed her mind to roam onto it. Faster than she could withdraw, memories of Harry being immobilized by Calypso, locked up by his relatives, and other, smaller things flashed past her eyes. In this one instance, being a highly prodigious Natural Legilimens was actually to Charlotte’s detriment. It made letting go of that particular strand of thought before all of these images played out rather difficult, primarily because of the speed with which they flashed through her mind.

Before she could withdraw, one final memory flashed through her thoughts. A memory that very nearly made her lose focus completely. She didn’t see the whole memory, but she saw a small part of it.

Harry was in a chamber that was unfamiliar to Charlotte. The only obvious feature of the room was a large, ornate mirror in its centre, one Charlotte had never seen before. Off to the side, the Boy-Who-Lived appeared to be bound and helpless. And as Charlotte watched as Harry heard Professor Hurst retell all she had done last year, he too felt the same. As well as a number of the other emotions that dominated his mind at the current moment in time.

None of that, outside of the bit where Charlus Potter was bound and gagged, was what truly shocked Charlotte. 

The two revelations which shocked Charlotte were far more significant. 

She thanked Merlin for her own proficiency in Occlumency. 

If she hadn’t been able to suppress all emotion and completely clear her mind a mere second after the memories flashed through her consciousness, she’d have botched the whole operation right there, purely due to those thoughts.

Lady Voldemort was alive.

Or, at least, she had been during this confrontation. Seeing as both of the Potter twins were still alive, Charlotte supposed the current state of the Dark Lady could be questioned.

But the other revelation…

A prophecy.

One that supposedly spoke of a boy destined with the powers to vanquish the Dark Lady? One that Harry had apparently kept mostly in the back of his mind for the better part of the year, primarily because it wasn’t as if he could really do anything with the information.

Well, he might be able to, but not that he knew of.

This was all interesting, and the revelations were earth-shattering in their scale and reach, but Charlotte needed a clear mind right now. She shoved all of that into the deep recesses of her thoughts for later evaluation. For now, helping her friend was far more important.

She forced the emotions aside. She needed to deal with those first before she could gently guide his subconscious through the process of rebuilding his mental defences. 

That would require a more complex trick than Charlotte was comfortable with. She knew how to do it, but it wasn’t exactly something she’d practiced. Yet without it, this whole practice would be moot. There would be no way she would be able to focus on aiding his Occlumency if she were to be assaulted with this much raw emotion the entire time.

With whatever passed as the internal manifestation of a deep, centring breath, she began to push impressions into Harry’s mind. Not probes nor intrusions. Not even memories. She pushed emotions into his psyche. Emotions of trust, content, and the feeling of being in control.

Very slowly, his mind calmed. It wasn’t a fast process by any stretch, but eventually, the feelings Charlotte was projecting became the dominant ones in his mind and very slowly, she began the mental reconstruction of his Occlumency structure.

The process took several minutes. It needed to be handled very carefully. Charlotte basically had complete control of his mind at the moment. Well, not his mind, per se, but the parts of it which pertained to Occlumency. 

His actual brain functions were still very much beyond her. She was good, but not that good. 

This was both because his shields were down, as well as the fact that by now, he had technically succumbed to unconsciousness. 

Oh, and the positive flow of emotions she had fed into his psyche had basically been the equivalent of giving his subconscious a powerful dose of morphine.

The problem with being in majority control of another’s mental functions was that you had to handle it very carefully. A lot could go wrong if handled otherwise. Thank Merlin all Charlotte had to do was help reconstruct Occlumency shields. That was actually very basic, because it didn’t really require access to any of his mental functions. She was just guiding him through a simple, external process. If it had been any more complicated, she would have been of no use.

Eventually, the process was complete. It was at least done to the best of Charlotte’s abilities. When she finally pulled out of Harry’s mind, she had an absolutely horrific headache and was rather disoriented.

She tried to stand, but staggered. Blaise Zabini steadied her while she got her balance until she was able to stand a moment later. 

“How long was that?” she asked dazedly.

“About ten minutes,” Blaise answered.

Merlin, that had taken longer than it was supposed to, and it hadn’t even been that complex. However good her Legilimency was, she needed a lot more practice before trying to do anything like that again.

While lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Blaise Zabini straightening importantly, but she did hear the next words he spoke. She’d never heard them before, but she could gauge their significance and infer their meaning just fine.

“I, Blaise Iago Zabini, rising member of Salazar’s noble house, hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar’s Sanction upon The Speaker’s Den. As magic is my witness.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t just impose-“ she stopped dead when she felt the familiar magics slide into place.

“I actually had no idea if I could. Harry’s done it a couple of times, but I wasn’t sure if that was… a unique ability of his. Apparently, it’s not.” He fixed her with a blank look. “Sorry, Weitts. It’s not that I don’t trust you, just that I don’t trust anybody. I don’t know what you saw in his mind, but I’m sure you probably saw things he’d much rather weren’t shared around. It was nothing personal, just a precaution.”

Charlotte inclined her head and said no more. She certainly didn’t say that for however paranoid Blaise Zabini and the rest of his family were, they likely had nothing on the House of Weitts. Something like that was common practice, as far as she was concerned.

_**Some time later, at Greengrass Manor…** _

Cyrus Greengrass was many things. 

Chief among them was a very well-modulated human being. He was, after all, a low fifth-level Occlumens. Even without the augmentation of Occlumency, Cyrus considered himself to be a remarkably calm and carefully controlled individual. He had a very hard time remembering the last time he was left sitting in the centre of a room with his emotions laid bare for the world to see.

That was all true, but none of it reflected his current state of being, nor his positively thunderstruck outward appearance.

When Celia had called him into the sitting room, leaving him no option for a rejection or a delay, she’d been frantic. 

This was what first tipped Cyrus off. 

Much like himself, she was usually a very well put together individual. Seeing her so obviously flustered had been his first indicator that something major was to come.

His next indicator was when he’d walked out to the sight of his youngest daughter, Astoria, crying as she sat snuggled close into Celia on the sofa. 

This was a change. 

Astoria had been a rather bubbly child, but she’d taken ruthlessly to Occlumency. That and rapid, natural maturation had changed her greatly. She was far quieter now and, above all else, far less expressive.

This was the second red flag.

He could have had twenty more red flags presented to him in the next fifteen seconds and it wouldn’t have mattered. No amount of warning could have prepared him for what came next. 

His daughter and heiress was missing.

Nobody at Hogwarts had any idea whether she was even alive, let alone where she might be or what condition she might be found in — if she was ever found, that was. The teachers and house elves alike had apparently spent much of that day scouring the castle for her. Dumbledore himself had spent every passing moment looking for her personally after he returned from the Wizengamot session that morning. A rather uneventful session that Cyrus had also been a part of.

This was not good.

Least of all with the over the top rumours centring around Hogwarts this year. He’d of course read the papers which potentially implicated Harry. Frankly, he didn’t believe it one bit. He trusted Daphne. She was an extremely observant young girl and, from his experience, a remarkable judge of character. He didn’t believe Harry Potter to be the Heir of Slytherin, or whoever was behind whatever the hell was going on in that castle. 

But something was definitely going on in that castle.

Cats showing up petrified and students disappearing at random? None of that was normal. Secretive as ever, Dumbledore had done his best to keep his cards close to his chest. The details that had leaked to the public were extremely limited. Cyrus thought there had to be more, but Albus Dumbledore was ensuring they didn’t leak.

That would no longer do.

Not now with his daughter and heiress being caught in the line of fire. It was time to get Dumbledore to spill what the hell was going on at Hogwarts, as well as force some outside intervention.

Daphne would be found.

He wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.

But for that to happen, pressure was going to need to be applied.

Serious political pressure.

For that, he needed to make some calls. 

_**Back at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin common room…** _

Charlotte most definitely felt miserable after her foray into Harry’s mind, but at least she was conscious. 

That was more than she could say for her friend. 

This was standard procedure. It had been expected, and he would likely be out for some time, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant. Tracey had levitated him into a bed in the centre of another room connected to the Speaker’s Den’s main parlour. One that had apparently gone unnoticed by Blaise and Tracey until now. Blaise had even reflected that he bet Harry had slept there on occasion without him ever realizing.

Again, this had been expected, and it caused little drama. The only part that did complicate matters was when Snape had decided to march into their common room and demand every single Slytherin student’s presence in the dormitory. 

It was fortunate that by then, they had already concluded their business in the Den and had been out in the common room already. 

They’d been forced to claim that Harry was very sick and asleep in his bed, with a temporary set of wards in place. There had been a rather worrying moment when one of the older students had offered to go and break said wards, but he’d quickly recoiled and recanted the offer when Grace shot him a withering glare.

Once that drama had been sorted, the common room descended into complete silence as Snape surveyed all of them, obviously choosing his words very carefully. Charlotte, Blaise and Tracey had no doubts as to what this would be about. 

“As some of you are already aware, and as I am sure the more astute of you have doubtlessly observed, there is one among your number who has been absent today.” 

If any other teacher were making the address, Charlotte didn’t doubt that there would have been a wave of muttering when they paused. Daphne was, after all, a rather prominent political figure, even despite her age. No matter if you’re eleven, seventeen, or anything in between, being the heiress of a Founding Twelve family, especially one who co-leads one of the three major political factions in the country will inevitably earn you a considerable amount of attention. It wasn’t terribly surprising that many in the common room seemed to know exactly who Snape was referencing.

Every last one of them also seemed to be acutely aware of exactly how serious the matter at hand was, for not a single soul even appeared to consider speaking.

“The staff, elves, and even the Headmaster have spent the entirety of the day scouring the castle for any signs of the missing student. Despite exhaustive efforts on our collective part, we have come up empty-handed.” He took another pause. “As I am sure most of you will be aware of by now, the missing student in question is Daphne Greengrass.” 

There actually was some muttering this time. Snape let it stretch on for five or so seconds, but no longer than that. 

“I very much doubt I need to remind any of you of Heiress Greengrass’s status in our world. In the same vein, I hope I do not need to elucidate as to the impact her disappearance will have on this castle and the way it is run. For the less perceptive among you, I will give a rather blunt prediction as to how the next number of days might unfold.

“The Neutral Faction will doubtlessly be calling an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot as soon as possible. At this meeting, the Greengrass’s family will demand anything they can which will potentially expedite the process of returning their daughter and heiress.” His lip curled. “Seeing as all efforts thus far have failed, I see no reason why a room full of politicians who enjoy perpetuating their importance will have any more success. 

“Therefore,” he continued, overriding the somewhat offended muttering of several more traditional clusters of students, “I anticipate very much that, in the absence of an initial victory, the Wizengamot will impose upon the castle to the best of the body’s ability. Doubtlessly, we will have strict protocols to follow, and I expect the body will push for the school’s temporary closure at the very least.”

This time, he allowed a considerable amount of muttering to stretch on for almost a full minute before he re-asserted himself and spoke once more. 

“This is a prediction that I am sure of. It is also one I hope we would all seek to avoid, and therefore I present each and every single one of you with a choice. If you have any suspicions as to what has transpired this year, I urge you to come forward. This may be your final chance to do so before irrevocable damage is wrought upon this castle.”

He phrased it in a way that made the action sound almost noble. If any heroic student thought they’d figured something out, they should come forward. His true meaning was obviously less glorified, though it was clear to any in the room with a brain. Which had obviously been the point, since nobody pulling the strings at Hogwarts this year could be anything but sharp.

If you are the Heir of Slytherin or know anything about them, this is your last chance to come forward. If you’re caught after this, you will have hell to pay.

Nobody so much as blinked.

Snape nodded curtly. “Very well. If any one of you comes to a… revelation, please come and see me immediately.” 

The absolute silence in the common room lasted about ten seconds — precisely the amount of time it took for their Head of House to leave. 

As soon as he was gone, complete and utter chaos took over the common room. Charlotte exchanged looks with Blaise and Tracy. She was intent on returning to the Speaker’s Den immediately until she felt a light brush against her mind.

The presence was familiar and after a mere moment of hesitation, Charlotte let it in, allowing the voice that sounded very much like Grace to speak softly in her head.

“Meet me in the room you use to train with Potter tonight at 8:00. Yes, I know you train with him. Don’t argue and don’t ask questions. Now isn’t the time. We have more important things to deal with than petty, teenage drama.”

That was a meeting Charlotte wasn’t particularly looking forward to, but she absently pushed her affirmative reply back across the connection her sister had already formed. Simultaneously, she made her way back towards the entrance of the Speaker’s Den, where Blaise and Tracey were waiting for her.

Not by choice, but because the room appeared to be locked. 

The password had been changed.

“Well,” Blaise said dryly, “I suppose we can assume he’s awake.”

“Leave him be,” Tracey said quietly. “He probably just wants to be alone right now.”

Blaise looked skeptical. “I don’t do well with this whole emotions thing, but are we sure that’s a good idea after… earlier.”

“I reconstructed his shields,” Charlotte reminded him. “I didn’t make a mistake. I don’t like it either, but I’m sure he’ll be fine, and it’s not as if we could get into the room anyway.” 

Like Tracey, she also just knew Harry would need to be alone. The two of them were rather alike and if she’d gone through a similar experience, especially if it had been in front of three of her closest friends, she very well might have locked herself up for days.

She only hoped he wasn’t doing anything self-destructive.

_**Later that night, in a room in the dungeons…** _

Grace Weitts was exceedingly busy.

Not only was she a seventh-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Head Girl of said instituion, but her schedule outside of classes was enough to make most ministry employees cringe. 

First and foremost, she was preparing for the rather… unique job she would be taking on once she officially graduated from Hogwarts. It was a job that took a frankly absurd amount of preparation. 

Even that was far from all. 

On Sundays, Grace helped Harry to hone his abilities with Occlumency, whereas on Thursdays, they focused on combat magic. Wednesdays and Fridays were spent with her little sister. 

On Wednesday, Grace would help Charlotte further her practice in Legilimency. Really, all she was doing was sitting there and defending her mind. 

Charlotte had actually spent more time researching the offensive branch of the Mind Arts than Grace had. She gave feedback and whatnot, but Charlotte was mostly self-trained at this point. Grace may have been miles ahead of her in regards to Occlumency, but Charlotte was much further on in Legilimency. 

Which is why, on Fridays, Charlotte had actually been helping Grace learn Legilimency. Being taught by her younger sister was odd, but Charlotte was a prodigy in the art. Grace had almost completely neglected Legilimency until last July, relying completely on her natural ability. While Grace might still have been considered a prodigy by definition, she didn’t look like one in this instance when compared to her sister.

But when it suddenly became necessary that she master Legilimency, her hands had been tied. 

To her relief, she was progressing quite rapidly. If not for Charlotte’s own, freakish speed of improvement, Grace would have significantly closed the gap between them in the Mind Arts’ offensive half.

Today was a Sunday, which meant the two of them technically weren’t supposed to meet up at all. 

Plans had changed.

Harry had been a ghost since Daphne’s disappearance had been announced to the school. He had apparently been sick in bed at the time, but Grace didn’t believe any of it. She knew how he tended to react to volatile, emotional situations. She thought it altogether more likely that he was locked up somewhere, buried in his own thoughts. Possibly the room she’d seen Daphne, Tracey and Zabini exiting from last June. 

If her sister had covered for him, Grace was pretty sure she would have answers, and she was concerned. About Harry, about Daphne, about Charlotte, about all of them. Plus, if Harry wasn’t going to show, she thought that she and her sister might as well get some practice in.

Right on time, Charlotte slipped through the door, and Grace couldn’t help but notice how exhausted her little sister looked. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

Charlotte seemed to ponder how to respond as she took her seat. “Not really?” It sounded like more of a question than a statement.

Grace winced. “Sorry, that was a ridiculous question to ask given the circumstances.”

Charlotte shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m not going to have a breakdown or anything, but it’s… hard.” She looked up at her older sister with oddly vulnerable eyes. “Nothing is going to come of the Wizengamot meeting, is it? Nothing that might help get Daphne back?”

“I don’t really see how it could,” she admitted. “Not right away, at least. Maybe they’ll place a team of Aurors here, or something. I doubt it would matter. Headmasters and Headmistresses have supposedly tried to find this Chamber of Secrets for generations. Many of them were the greatest witches and wizards of their ages. If they didn’t find it, I don’t love the Auror’s chances.”

“What about catching the Heir of Slytherin? If it even is an Heir of Slytherin.”

“Oh, I definitely think it’s an Heir of Slytherin.” Grace’s statement sounded almost bitter. “That’s probably more likely than them finding the Chamber, but I’m still not sure if they will actually be able to find the heir or not. If they can’t…” she let her voice trail off; there was no need to finish.

“I just want her back.” 

Charlotte's voice sounded rather small, and Grace rested a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. “She’ll be back, Charlotte.”

“But you just said-“

“Oh, even if the attacker gets away with it, I have no doubt she’ll be back. I doubt this Heir of Slytherin would just off the heiress of a Founding Twelve family. Aside from the fact that the Heir, whoever they may be, are probably traditionalists, there are far more useful things they could do with her given her standing.” Charlotte shivered. “Let’s stop talking about this,” Grace decided with a sigh. “It’s just upsetting you more. I’ll let you practice on me tonight, if you’re willing.”

They did indeed practice for some time, but Grace could tell almost immediately that Charlotte’s mind wasn’t in it. She seemed distracted, more than if she had just been worried about her friend, and Grace could do little more than wonder what else could possibly be on her baby sister’s mind. 

What could possibly be on a level of magnitude similar to Daphne Greengrass’s disappearance?

_**January 13, 1993  
The Speaker’s Den  
2:49 AM** _

Merlin, it had been a long day and a half.

By now, Harry had gone through so many states of emotion that he practically felt numb. From his state of suspicion and worry, to outright panic, to… whatever the hell had happened after that, to the myriad of emotions in the past twelve or so hours.

He’d felt mildly guilty for locking his friends out of the Speaker’s Den by changing the password, but he’d needed to be alone with his thoughts more than anything. He hadn’t even been sure how he’d felt, and he really had no desire to interact with anyone at that point in time.

There were also the vague memories he did think he had from when he’d been unconscious. A foreign presence in his mind. One he thought he recognized, though how he had no idea. 

A presence that had learned the truth about Voldemort’s continued survival. And possibly about the prophecy. 

He hadn’t thought much on the prophecy since June, actually. Voldemort had thought it had already been fulfilled. What she said certainly did seem to indicate just that, though he supposed there was always the possibility that she was wrong. Even if that was the case, he wasn’t entirely sure it mattered anymore. 

Dumbledore was a lot of things. In Harry’s opinion, a liar was definitely one of them. 

Yet he didn’t think the Headmaster had lied to him about Charlus being the Boy-Who-Lived. It wasn’t as if he knew enough of said magics to make an educated guess one way or the other, but it had somehow seemed quite genuine to Harry. And even if the prophecy somehow indicated him as opposition to Charlus, what could he really do? If fate itself had ordained it... 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t want to know. 

He most certainly did. 

He was, after all, a very curious person by nature. He was also a person who despised feeling helpless. That meant he hated the very existence of the prophecy, but perhaps knowing it would lessen those feelings? He supposed it would likely depend on the contents.

There was no good in pondering it. He had no idea how one even went about hearing a prophecy, and if Dumbledore had heard it and had any control whatsoever, Harry would never get anywhere near it in the first place. Obsessing over something of that nature was a waste of energy, so he hadn’t spent much time considering its existence at all.

But still… for somebody else to be aware of it was troubling. They had been in the Den, so perhaps Charlotte — if indeed it had been Charlotte — wouldn’t be able to speak of it? But he hadn’t been awake to invoke Salazar’s Sanction, so perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part. Blaise or Tracey might by now have memorized the wording, particularly if Blaise knew Occlumency, which Harry thought to be very likely. 

Perhaps he had been able to invoke it, but even then, Harry was unsure. 

He was a Parselmouth, and it was increasingly likely that the Potters had some sort of connection to the Hogwarts founder. Perhaps being fluent in the language of serpents wasn’t necessary. Perhaps the same could be said for having a direct connection to Slytherin. Perhaps being in the man’s house was enough, but perhaps it wasn’t. 

Harry had no idea. 

He would continue to have no idea unless Blaise or Tracey had tried and he asked them about it later.

Not that this was even the first time he’d thought of this today. He had spent the whole day locked up in the Den, thinking a vast array of things.

He was by now growing restless, and he knew sleep wouldn’t come. Even if it did, it would be so fragmented by his inevitable nightmares that Harry counted himself wholly uninterested in the endeavour. 

He knew wandering the school at this time of night was idiocy. What with an Heir of Slytherin lurking the halls who seemed not to care about blood or station. This fact seemed to be furiously glaring at him for his complete lack of regard, but he couldn’t will himself to care. Any more waiting around would drive him completely and utterly mental.

Part of him had to resist the urge to creep into his dormitory and kill Draco Malfoy on the spot. It seemed too coincidental that the Malfoy Heir had been sabotaged by Daphne less than two weeks ago and then the girl in question mysteriously vanished. It wasn’t impossible that Draco could have put her ploy together. Harry did doubt it, but it wasn’t impossible. Neither, he supposed, was Draco Malfoy being the Heir of Slytherin.

But he doubted it.

He very highly doubted it.

Draco didn’t seem nearly competent enough. He had surprised Harry with the Blinding Curse during their one-sided duel, but that was different. 

Knowing a vile curse and being able to get away with all of this weren’t in the same league when comparing their scale, nor their complexity. 

Malfoy also had no known connection to Slytherin. Pansy had checked. She’d been checking the family lineages of every Slytherin she could think of. Which, coincidentally, happened to be each and every single one of them. When it came to gossip, Pansy’s memory seemed to put even Harry’s to shame. It was just a shame it didn’t often extend onto other, more useful topics.

No, he really didn’t think the Heir of Slytherin was Draco Malfoy, though a small, terrible part of him still wanted to slit the boy’s throat in his sleep just on the off chance that he did have anything to do with hurting Daphne.

One thing was for certain as he crept his way towards the exit of the Speaker’s Den. Whomever the Heir of Slytherin was, they’d made it very personal, intentional or not. Harry didn’t give a shit how Gryffindor it was. They had attacked his closest friend. Staying out of trouble was now firmly off the table. He would be Slytherin about it. He would go about it in as low key and low risk a way as possible, but Harry was going to unmask the Heir of Slytherin.

And when he was done with them, it wouldn’t matter that they’d been unmasked. Whether their face was visible or not would be of no consequence, as the corpse would likely be battered past recognition. 

But that would come later.

For now, he had some questions for Emily Riddle.

__**January 14, 1993  
The Wizengamot Chambers  
9:00 AM**

During most meetings, the ancient chambers of the Wizengamot were dominated by a mundane sense of monotony as the members of Magical Britain’s governing body prepared themselves for an inevitably predictable day of dry, repetitive procedures. It was very rare this wasn’t the case. On those rare occasions in question, most of them tended to be unscheduled, emergency gatherings of said governing body. Emergency meetings which had once practically been weekly, but were now extremely scarce, almost unheard of in the past number of years.

Yet it was on January fourteenth, nineteen-ninety-three when one of these meetings took place. It was on that same day that the nearly millennia-old chamber was humming with tension the likes of which the procession hadn’t seen in well over a decade. Perhaps not since the infamous Death Eater Trials. Perhaps not even since the first and most notorious — the trial and conviction of Sirius Black.

On this crisp, cloudy, January morning, with both the voters and visitors sections packed past capacity, that was exactly the kind of atmosphere that permeated the room. Every hair on everybody seemed to stand on end, and it was as if everyone in the room had been simultaneously subjected to a harsh electric shock, such was the tension visible in each and every body. 

Of said bodies, almost every single one of them, voters and visitors alike, were exchanging hushed words with those beside them. All of these low voices conjoined into something far more, giving the impression of a constant, droning herd of sheep currently occupying the facilities meant for the noblest members of Magical Britain.

Speaking of the greats among the crowd, one of them stood tall and proud, wearing his deep plum robes just like all other members of the Wizengamot. His long silver hair and beard obstructed part of his face, but those who looked closely enough and who’d witnessed the meeting in question would see that Albus Dumbledore looked every bit as grim as he had during the most notorious Death Eater trial more than eleven years earlier.

After letting the droning of the crowd persist for as long as he could feasibly get away with in an effort to collect himself to the best of his abilities, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot slammed his gavel against the podium, drawing the collective attention of the room to him. 

“We must pass the opening of this emergency meeting of the Wizengamot. All in favour?” Every wand rose into the air, and Albus seemed to age a number of years as he prepared to open the meeting in question. “Very well; motion passed. Let the emergency Wizengamot meeting of January the fourteenth, nineteen-ninety-three commence.” 

All of a sudden, the courtroom was eerily quiet, though the tension in the air had far from receded. If anything, it had only grown as Dumbledore called the meeting to order, something most present would have thought impossible just minutes earlier.

“As this is an unscheduled gathering of this body, there is no standard business to take care of. Unless, of course, anyone present wishes to call any urgent matters to the Wizengamot’s attention?” 

Nobody did. 

Some had considered trying to push their own agendas at a meeting that would doubtlessly be so heavily publicized. But distracting from the meeting’s true purpose would not only be extremely disrespectful, but it would also very much risk making some very powerful enemies of the people who had called for the meeting in the first place. 

Dumbledore nodded. “In that case, we shall swiftly move onto the roll call, and then we shall begin.”

The roll call encompassed every family who sat on the Wizengamot. From the few Founding Twelve families remaining — each of whom had twenty votes to their family’s name — to mere houses who only had a single vote to utilize. 

If one was observing their first-ever Wizengamot meeting, they might think this an extremely corrupt system, especially with such an obvious disparity in political power. They would be completely correct, but any educated citizen would never ask such an ignorant question. Magical Britain was a nation built on corruption. Therefore, it should come as no surprise when the political system that is responsible for the running of said nation rests upon the most corrupt of foundations.

The Wizengamot was made up of a total of five-hundred and nine votes. Of the total, the Conservatives controlled two-hundred-and-thirty-three, whilst the Liberals controlled one-hundred-and-ninety-five. The Neutrals may have controlled the vast minority at only eighty-one votes, but in many ways, they were the most important of the three factions.

On most matters, the Conservatives and Liberals disagreed. The Conservatives may have controlled more votes, largely thanks to their faction controlling three Founding House’s seats, but if the Neutrals sided with the Liberals, the Conservatives would lose the vote. So, in most cases, whichever direction the Neutrals leaned was the winning direction. Except for the very rare instances when all members of a given party didn’t vote the same as their party mates. 

When the roll call had finally been completed, it was the smallest faction that drew the attention of the Chief Warlock. “As the faction responsible for hastily calling this emergency session, I think it wise to allow the Neutrals a chance to express what is on their minds. To the designated speaker of the Neutrals, I concede the chair.”

Once more, there was a brief rumbling of conversation, but it was snuffed out instantaneously when Lord Cyrus Greengrass stood to his feet. 

The man’s face was admirably blank, but those nearest could practically feel the intensity radiating off of him in waves. 

Not that everybody present couldn’t correctly assume exactly what this was about.

The previous morning, the _Daily Prophet_ had published an article written by Rita Skeeter. An article that spoke of Daphne Greengrass’s sudden and unexplained disappearance. 

Skeeter had predicted a Wizengamot meeting to be called in the coming days, and the rather inventive journalist had, on this occasion, been correct. Nearly everybody in the vast room had read the article. Those who hadn’t had all at least heard of its contents, so it was no real surprise that Cyrus Greengrass effortlessly commanded the attention of the room at that moment in time.

“Lords, ladies, and esteemed visitors,” the man said smoothly. “It has come to my attention through the mishandling of my daughter’s safety by the institution in question that terrible things have been taking place this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” His voice may have been void of emotion, but every word had a decisiveness to it that was impossible to miss. “I’m sure many of you have read the colourful articles published by the Daily Prophet not only yesterday, but in the last number of months. I’m also sure that many of you, like me, thought they were nothing more than gossip.

“Well, my faction and I have called this meeting today in part to inform each and every single one of you that every event the articles have referenced has indeed happened. A supposed Heir of Slytherin is running rampant inside that castle. This criminal has now not only assaulted a cat and a young muggleborn boy, but two sons of an Ancient House, and now my daughter; the heiress of one of the few Founding Houses this country has left.

“My point isn’t to bring up blood in an effort to divide us. I bring it up to unite us. Blood and blood rights are one of the most divisive topics this court discusses, but I am here to tell you it is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Both muggleborns and purebloods have felt the wrath of whomever might be responsible for these disappearances. I tell you this in an effort to make one thing plain. These atrocities are a threat to everyone, regardless of blood. I urge you to consider our suggested action knowing that whatever your stance may be on blood, it isn’t relevant to the issue at hand.”

This time, the muttering was louder than ever. On almost any other occasion, if somebody had suggested to the Wizengamot to put what may very well be the most complex and controversial political issue in the country to the side, they would have been laughed out of the court.

But this wasn’t a normal occasion. 

It also helped that the speaker was one of the most politically powerful men in the country.

As such, the muttering wasn’t so astonished or furious as it was… assentive. 

From his spot on the podium, Dumbledore’s brow furrowed as the wrinkles on his face momentarily appeared to deepen. It was a bold tactic by Lord Greengrass. An obvious effort to rally and unite the entire Wizengamot. Which meant that something major was coming. Something that would prove to be controversial and incredibly impactful. 

“Our primary concerns are this,” Lord Greengrass continued. “Students have been disappearing at Hogwarts. This in and of itself is absolute insanity, something I’m sure nobody in this court would disagree with.” Judging by the expressions dotted all around the room, his statement rang true. “The staff have also utterly failed in apprehending the perpetrator, despite these incidents dating back almost three months and noticeably escalating in severity ever since.” The crowd muttered again. 

“Secondly, and even more troublingly, is the fact that we had to hear about it from a newspaper.” More muttering. “Our children are at risk of disappearance. Maybe even death, and we hear nothing? Those at Hogwarts seem not only unable to apprehend the culprit, but intent on burying the truth and failing to make us, the parents and governing body of Magical Britain, aware of the developments that affect us directly.” 

The muttering had swelled to outright, scandalized chatter by now, and Dumbledore felt dread well up in the pit of his stomach. 

Cyrus Greengrass wasn’t wrong. 

He failed to understand the rationale behind his decision of not releasing this information to the public, but he wasn’t wrong, and he very much expected that the Wizengamot was about to eat him alive for it.

Eat him alive they did.

As procedure dictated after Cyrus ended his opening statements, the floor was opened to cross-examination. Much of it was directed at the Greengrass Lord, but a fair number were directed at Albus. 

Why was Hogwarts trying to pretend everything was perfectly under control? Why was the school even still open? That one made Dumbledore cringe. Were there any indications of who might be behind these atrocities? Was there any validity to the rumours circulating around the country about the Chamber of Secrets? Was the Boy-Who-Lived really a Parselmouth? 

Dumbledore had good answers for practically none of these questions, so he deflected them with the skill of a well-practiced politician. 

After what must have been over an hour, Dumbledore finally evaded the last question posed to him, and had asserted control over the proceedings once more. 

“If that is all?” Nobody indicated otherwise. “Good, good,” he said exhaustedly, turning back to where the Neutrals sat together, “well then, Lord Greengrass, you have made your concerns very evident. Is there… any suggested course of action you would like to put forth to the Wizengamot?”

“There is, Chief Warlock.” Lord Greengrass’s posture was ramrod straight. “After much discussion and deliberation prior to today’s meeting, myself and my faction would like to put forth a motion that, if passed, will see the immediate closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A closure that will remain in effect until all of the victims are found and recovered. During this closure, we would recommend a full sweep of the castle by the Aurors.”

Pandemonium broke loose all at once in the courtroom. 

Nobody even bothered muttering now. 

On the contrary, many of the voices had risen so drastically in volume that an equal number now had to shout in order to be heard. Dumbledore’s mind raced. He hadn’t honestly thought this proposition would arise. He had expected his place as Headmaster to be brought up, but this? The Neutrals were a lot of things, but drastic was not usually one of them. Many in their faction were also traditionalists, which made the proposal all the more surprising.

“I am not proposing a permanent closure of the school,” Cyrus Greengrass clarified. “I think it should reopen as soon as possible, but we cannot allow our children to live and learn in such a dangerous place. Not when some of them have already suffered unknown consequences as a result of the current climate within the castle- and the possible negligence of the castle’s staff.”

The chaos continued, even as Lord Greengrass spoke. It took a round of obnoxiously loud fireworks fired from the end of Dumbledore’s wand to bring the crowd to silence. 

“Do we have any who wish to make counter-arguments before the motion is posed?” 

He was hoping one of the Liberals would object on his behalf, but they all seemed to be sitting with hard, determined expressions and Albus instinctively knew that he couldn’t rouse them to his side, despite being their leader. If he tried, he would likely accomplish nothing but tarnishing his own reputation in the process.

But Hogwarts couldn’t close.

If Hogwarts closed, the culprit may never be found, which would be catastrophic. 

It was, in some way or another, an agent of Voldemort opening the Chamber of Secrets. The Headmaster had no doubt of this. He thought it likely a similar situation to last year, even. Voldemort being in possible control of a student or, less likely, a member of staff.

It was for this reason the castle couldn’t close.

If this were the case, at least Voldemort’s will was confined to the castle. If the school closed and she and her vessel were allowed to roam free, Albus feared what might happen. He had his suspicions about her survival. No matter how she had done it, he was sure there were ways in which she could return. Doing so at Hogwarts would be extremely difficult. Doing so under his nose at Hogwarts would be even more so. But left to roam free in the world… Voldemort's ability to return suddenly became a lot less complex.

Moreover, it meant that they may never catch who was responsible. Not only would this mean no justice for the victims, but it would mean Voldemort’s servant kept their anonymity. In the hands of the Dark Lady, that was a weapon far more dangerous than any branch of magic.

All of this was why, for the first and only time in his life, Dumbledore felt a great swell of gratitude blossom within him when Lucius Malfoy stood to address the room at large.

“I don’t think anyone in this room disagrees with your noble premise, Lord Greengrass.” Everyone in the chamber could feel the “but” coming. “However, I think it is rather shortsighted to immediately close down Hogwarts. What of our children? What are they without a proper education? How can they be expected to smoothly integrate into wizarding society when they are of age? Surely, with stricter precautions in place and some more… diligence on the part of the Headmaster and professors of the institution in question, Hogwarts can stay open, at least for the time being.”

Many in the Conservative Faction were nodding along with Malfoy. Albus thought several Neutrals might have been convinced if not for the obvious ire emanating from one of their leaders. 

Obviously, none of them wanted to cross that.

“You would risk your own child, Malfoy?” Cyrus countered pointedly. “You would risk the lives of every single one of our children? You would rest our children’s lives on the back of a plan with no promise of success? We don’t know how they are vanishing in the first place. Without that information, what measures could possibly be put in place to ensure that all of the children are protected?”

Lucius had no counter, but Tiberius Nott did. “Is it even within the legal rights of the Wizengamot to close Hogwarts? Is that not an authority specifically designated to the Board of Governors.” 

All the eyes in the room looked towards Dumbledore. He had no desire to answer this question, but the choice was no longer in his hands. 

“The Wizengamot does have the authority to force a closure of the castle. It is ironically one of the few powers the body holds over the school. This law was set in place before the Hogwarts Board of Governors ever existed after several… questionable appointments in regards to the school’s leadership. The power has thus far never been exercised, but it is available for use at the Wizengamot’s discretion if need be.”

“I still respectfully think the closure of Hogwarts would be a massive, shortsighted mistake.” Malfoy said calmly. “Surely, there is another way?” He paused. “What of Aurors? Could a full lockdown not be in effect any time the children are not in classes? Could Aurors not patrol the halls? Could they not actively search for the Chamber of Secrets?”

Many Neutrals also seemed to agree with this course of action, even if it seemed as though Lord Greengrass, Regent Weitts and several others judged it as inadequate. 

If only it was that easy.

“I am afraid not, Lord Malfoy,” Dumbledore said heavily. “Via the Hogwarts Charter, no occupying force may be granted permission to enter the castle. This was a provision put in place by the founders themselves. One that has stood for over a thousand years.”

Amelia Bones raised her wand, and Dumbledore called for her to take the floor. 

She had recently been appointed as Head of the DMLE after the previous head, Rufus Scrimgeour, had retired on the solstice. Primarily due to his badly injured leg posing potential problems out in the field.

“But Headmaster,” the woman asked with narrowed eyes, “last year, an occupying force was permitted access to Hogwarts. My department sent two Aurors plus a detective to investigate the death of the then heir to the Ancient House of Higgs.” 

Rumblings spread across the room once more, but they were quickly muted when Dumbledore shook his head.

“I think you will find, Lady Bones, that three just so happens to be the largest party possible. It was the maximum number permitted by the founders. Any more than three is considered by the charter as an occupying force. You may also remember when Aurors Potter, Shacklebolt and Dawlish were dispatched to the castle last May? Again, the number was not coincidental.”

Questions were thrown around the courtroom like cheap trinkets for the next number of minutes, but the same one cropped up quite frequently. 

Why was this charter not publicly available?

“It is not publicly available,” Dumbledore said calmly once the noise level permitted him to speak at all, “for much the same reason that your family charters are not publicly available. Even without those provisions in place, the charter pre-dates the Wizengamot by decades.”

“But this is lunacy!” Lord Warrington said heatedly. “What if there was a massacre at Hogwarts? Nothing could be done about it? We would have to trust the professors to see to it?” 

The sentiment was echoed all throughout the hall and it took Dumbledore far longer to regain order this time. 

“The point of this meeting is not to bicker about charters written more than a thousand years ago. The goal of this session is to resolve the ongoing issues that were brought up at the session’s beginning. Speaking of, Lord Greengrass, I see you wish to make a counterpoint?”

The revelation of Hogwarts being completely cut off from outside intervention had not gone over well and Albus very much suspected that would be coming up again at one of the next meetings.

“Yes, Chief Warlock. With respect to our esteemed Aurors, I am personally not comfortable allowing the school to stay open knowing that only three of them could be on guard. The castle is vast, and no matter how talented they might be, three wizards could never cover all of it. And I reiterate, without knowing the nature of the threat, we can’t be sure a lockdown would be at all effective. With all of this in mind, I would like to officially put forth the motion for the temporary closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to vote.”

A general murmur of assent ran through the courtroom. Dumbledore deflated. This was it. He’d done everything he could, but what he could do was vastly limited by his political position, one that demanded complete and total neutrality when mediating. Now, the motion would be put forth and the vote would pass.

“Do we have… any final objections?” he asked dejectedly.

There was the clearing of a throat from the sidelines, catching all in the massive chamber off guard. They all looked in the direction of the noise and, to their immense surprise, it was the court scribe who had cleared their throat. 

“Yes, Mister…”

“P-P-Perkins, Chief Warlock Dumbledore, sir. Perkins.”

“Mister Perkins,” Dumbledore said tiredly, noticing how obviously unhappy the crowd was that a mere court scribe had been given permission to interrupt the meeting. “Did… you have an objection, Mister Perkins?” 

Dumbledore knew he couldn’t legally object. He didn’t have a Wizengamot seat, so it would hardly matter if he did. Nevertheless, he was willing to do just about anything to stall at the present moment in time.

“N-not an objection, Chief Warlock. I… I have a message that was passed onto the court earlier today in… in case something like this came up?”

The courtroom fell silent all at once. Whatever they had all expected, this wasn’t it. “A… message?” Dumbledore asked skeptically.

“Yes, sir,” the court scribe said with noticeable anxiety. When the room’s undivided attention rested upon the young, red-haired man in his mid-twenties, he closed his eyes and took a deep, readying breath. “A message from the Heir of Slytherin.”

The court erupted into disarray as soon as the words had left the young wizard’s mouth. 

For his part, Dumbledore’s jaw went slack for all of three seconds before he managed to reel in his shock once more. 

A message from the Heir of Slytherin? Emily had managed to get a message into the Wizengamot? 

This wasn’t good. 

This meant that she had been in contact with political allies. Important ones, at that. There was no way such a thing could have been accomplished otherwise. The clearance process alone would never have been successful. Worse still, they wouldn’t be able to question Perkins as to who had passed along the message and how they had done it. Anonymity in such matters was a fundamental right of any who put forth such messages and concerns. 

Dumbledore could tell all in the room, once settled, were listening with wrapped attention. It seemed he had little choice but to let the Heir of Slytherin deliver their message. 

“Very well, Mister Perkins. What message does the Heir of Slytherin have for us?”

In a slightly shaky voice, Mister Perkins spoke aloud. Spoke the most important words he’d ever spoken in his life. 

“Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I feel no need to introduce myself, given the current circumstances. I do not merely write you with greetings, but a warning. The actions you could take against myself and my campaign are very limited. In fact, I see only one as a true threat, which is why I warn each and every single one of you. It is why I urge you all to heed my words, for I am many things, but a bluffer is not one of them.

“Daphne Greengrass is very much alive.” Dumbledore could practically feel a small amount of the tension drain from the room, and Cyrus Greengrass looked as if the sky had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Until the message continued. 

“As are Fred and George Weasley, as well as Colin Creevey. They are all alive. Unconscious, helpless, and I am able to do with them as I please, but alive nevertheless. Alas, that can change very quickly. 

“Heed my words and hear my warning, Lords, Ladies and spectators. If Hogwarts school is ordered closed, I shall ensure that none of these children are ever seen or heard from again. This is my first address to the Wizengamot as the Heir of Slytherin. Take it as you will.”

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am a bit nervous to see how the Wizengamot scene goes over, seeing as politics are always controversial. I rather enjoyed writing it though, and I think it ends the chapter on a suitably dramatic note.**
> 
> **Next chapter will feature the fallout from the last few days, as well as some other, interesting tidbits. There will be a time skip between the next chapter and the one after it, but it won’t be too long. The pace is about to drastically speed up though, since almost all of the pieces are in place by now.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 5th, 2020. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server via the link on my profile, or by supporting me on P*T*E*N**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, discodancepant, Isaaa and Sesc for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	26. Carefully Calculated Strikes Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**January 14, 1993  
The Office of Amelia Bones  
1:23 PM** _

Damn Slytherins to hell and back.

That was what Amelia Bones — newly minted Head of the DMLE — thought as she strode into her office, leading a procession of rather important people behind her.

Less than three weeks ago, Rufus Scrimgeour had officially resigned from his position as head of the department, and Amelia wondered if he’d seen something like this coming. 

The given justification for the man’s retirement was that his leg was too badly injured, and he could no longer be an asset in the field. Whilst Amelia certainly agreed his capabilities were lessened, she doubted very much that a wizard of Scrimgeour’s caliber would suddenly be useless due to a simple decrease in mobility. She hadn’t said that, of course. After his prominent role in the last war, serving out on the front lines as an Auror, nobody in the office begrudged him of an early and hopefully peaceful retirement.

But Amelia had doubted Scrimgeour’s reasoning then, and she certainly doubted it now.

The man was a deductive genius. It was a wonder to most who knew him that he had never been a detective and had instead spent most of his years as an Auror. Amelia thought he could have given Pettigrew a run for his money, and the DMLE’s top detective hadn’t failed in as long as she could remember. 

Scrimgeour had a sixth sense for danger. He always seemed to know when a threat was on the horizon, and he always seemed to have an indication of not just who was behind it, but their motives and the general level of threat they posed.

She wondered if this was just another case of Rufus being right. Not that he could have foreseen the exact set of circumstances, but perhaps he’d deduced something major was going to spiral out of this business at Hogwarts. If he had, Amelia certainly wouldn’t have blamed him for deciding he wanted no part of it and retiring right there. Merlin knew that was what she wanted to do right about now.

The Wizengamot meeting had descended into complete and total chaos following the ominous message from the Heir of Slytherin. The court had been shocked into silence for all of five seconds before muttering, jeering, screams and shouts dominated the courtroom. It had practically taken an age to get the court back under control and, even then, the chaos had been far from over.

Once order had been restored, the meeting had continued. 

Closing Hogwarts was obviously no longer an option. The court couldn’t justify sentencing four children to death. A few brave members had argued that they needed to look at the bigger picture. Others had pointed out that this self proclaimed Heir of Slytherin hadn’t provided them with any proof to validate their claims.

None of it had mattered.

The Neutrals were standing firm. And, for once, both the Liberals and Conservatives also seemed to be in agreement. 

The Liberals had looked sickened by the very idea of a decision so morally fraught , and the Conservatives were far too traditional to ever agree to something as radical as the closure of the best school in the country. Let alone sentencing a child of one of the oldest and most influential families in the nation to death. That wasn’t even to speak of the ones who had business dealings with the Greengrasses and didn’t want to draw their ire. Prices would suddenly rise very high for anyone who even dared suggest their heiress be sentenced to death.

It hadn’t taken long for the few outliers to be silenced and for a decision to be reached on the matter of closing Hogwarts. The castle would be staying open as long as they could feasibly allow. Others pointed out that if the mysterious Heir of Slytherin was at Hogwarts, at least it kept them out of the larger world outside. Another decision that had been easily agreed upon was that something had to be done.

Deciding exactly what that something was had been far more difficult.

The proclamation that a force of Aurors wouldn’t be allowed entrance to the castle had troubled much of the court. Even in her position of power, Amelia hadn’t been aware of that particular provision. It greatly limited their options, as well as brought up a number of troubling implications that would have to wait until they figured out exactly what they would do about this menace at Hogwarts.

Some creative solutions had been offered.

Send a number of different groups of three, therefore negating the provision about an occupying force, so long as the forces in question weren’t directly related or working together. Dumbledore had pointed out exactly why this would fail. The wards were old and powerful. They would judge not just the numbers, but the intent as well. 

Another, though less creative solution that had been met with resounding agreement was to simply repeal that particular clause of the Hogwarts Charter.

While this was technically a possibility under the court’s authority, it was not a quick one. It would likely take a number of months to be able to do so, as the logistics were so murky that Amelia could barely remember them. Not to mention that there was no precedent whatsoever for this. Albus had also been rather reluctant to do this. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he did have a certain amount of say in these things. Amelia didn’t doubt he would allow the provision to be repealed if enough support rallied behind the idea, but she also didn’t doubt he would have his own long list of conditions before signing off on it.

Seeing as the entire Liberal Faction would vote with Dumbledore, that was troubling.

Not that they couldn’t win the vote without the Liberals, but that was assuming they got nearly a unanimous vote from the Conservatives and a favourable vote from the Neutrals. Amelia wasn’t even so sure the former party would agree with the idea. The latter would almost definitely support it, but their numbers weren’t large enough to truly sway the court — unless they proved to be the deciding factor in a stalemate. 

The simplest solution had eventually won out; the one Lucius Malfoy had suggested rather early on in the proceedings.

They would send three members of the DMLE to Hogwarts. 

It was the largest number they could get away with. It might have been far from ideal, but it was also much better than the alternative of doing nothing at all.

They would also be locking down the castle. No student would be allowed out of their common room after curfew or before the opening of breakfast. Hopefully, that would limit the Heir’s exploits. If it didn’t, it would at least mean they had a much higher likelihood of being caught and apprehended.

That vote had been unanimous, something that was extremely rare in the Wizengamot, especially since the fall of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

None of that was directly responsible for Amelia’s internal cursing about Scrimgeour and, by extension, Slytherins.

Indirectly, it was very much involved.

It was in response to the Wizengamot’s decision that she was now leading these people into her office to discuss the critical decision of exactly who would be sent to Hogwarts. 

Senior Aurors Potter, Shacklebolt and Dawlish followed her into the room. They were quickly joined by Chief Auror Alastor Moody, the DMLE’s top detective Peter Pettigrew, and the Minister for Magic, Bartemius Crouch Sr.

“Shall we begin?” Crouch asked in a rather clipped tone once everyone had sat down in their seats. Everybody nodded. “This decision cannot be made haphazardly,” Crouch stressed. “It is an issue that must be resolved, but there is also no sense in crippling our Auror force over an investigation that might well turn out to be fruitless.”

Moody grunted. “Are you suggesting we’re not up to the task, Crouch?” Moody had to be one of the only people alive who could casually call the Minister for Magic by his last name in public and get away with it.

“I am saying that the entire operation is an uphill battle from the start. We are handicapped before we even begin. Typical investigations of this nature would see at least five detectives deployed, as well as three-or-so Aurors. We are bound not only by numbers, but designations. 

“If we send three detectives, we will likely have a better probability of solving the mystery. The problem would arise when and if the mystery is solved and if the answer turned out to be something particularly dangerous. Likewise, if we send three Aurors, resolving the issue becomes much more feasible, but finding out what said issue is suddenly becomes a problem.” He gazed around at those gathered around him. “Do you all follow?” 

They all nodded. “So we send a combination,” Pettigrew rationalized. “A detective and two Aurors, or two detectives and an Auror.”

Crouch looked pensive. “That is certainly one outlook. I had a rather different take, myself.”

“And,” came a soft voice from the door, “would it be possible for me to hear this take of yours, Minister? Perhaps the rest of this conversation as well, as it does pertain rather directly to the school that I do my best to run.”

Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, still wearing his plum-coloured Wizengamot robes. 

Amelia frowned. “This is a highly important meeting of the DMLE, Dumbledore. Some of the information that comes up in this meeting may be classified after the fact. I’m not sure it’s best-“

“Let him in,” Moody growled, his normal eye focusing on the Hogwarts Headmaster while his magical eye swiveled and found Amelia Bones. “Dumbledore doesn’t count as part of an occupying force. He’s already at Hogwarts, see? No association to the Ministry at all. He’ll be our best weapon against all this.” His magical eye narrowed while still fixated on Madam Bones. “But he won’t be able to do that if you keep him out of the meeting.”

“I agree with Mad-Eye,” James Potter spoke up. “If we’re going into Hogwarts, it’s only right we let Dumbledore in on it. He might be our best chance at figuring all of this out.”

Amelia pursed her lips and glanced towards Crouch. The man was impassive, but he didn’t react in the negative, so she sighed. “Oh, very well. Come in then, Dumbledore.”

The man smiled genially as he stepped inside and removed his wand from the pocket of his robes. With a light flick, he conjured an armchair from thin air and took a seat between Potter and Pettigrew, directly across from Alastor. 

“We were just talkin’ about who should go to Hogwarts,” Moody summarized succinctly.

Dumbledore nodded pensively. “Certainly not your best detective.” 

All in the room looked at Dumbledore as if he’d just proposed the abolishing of the Statute of Secrecy. “And why on earth not?” Amelia asked, stunned.

Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired. “My dear Madam Bones, if the Chamber of Secrets was so easy to find, it would have been found many years ago. Headmasters and Headmistresses have spent centuries looking. Why, I have probably spent more time than any, and in fifty years I have never succeeded.”

“What is your point, Dumbledore?” asked Crouch with obvious impatience.

“Merely that the Chamber of Secrets is likely inaccessible to all those who do not speak Salazar’s sacred tongue. It also stands to reason, if this is the case, that other hidden facets of the castle may well fall under the same designation.”

“So you think flushing out the heir will be nearly impossible,” Peter summarized. “You think that the heir has secret passages at their disposal that we can’t access and that if the top detectives converged on Hogwarts, they would start using them exclusively.

“Precisely.”

All present looked between Minister Crouch and Madam Bones. “What are you proposing then?” asked the latter in a rather calculated voice.

“I am proposing that on the investigative side, those most well-suited for the job may be best used outside of the castle, piecing together anything they can on the Heir of Slytherin.”

“So you are proposing three Aurors be sent?”

“That is exactly what I am proposing, Madam Bones. If the detectives can glean any information on the outside, the Aurors can investigate on the inside. It is the best way to effectively utilize as much manpower as possible. Just because more than three people of service may not be deployed to Hogwarts, does not mean that they cannot be working on the dilemma from the outside. I will, of course, also offer aid from inside any way possible.”

There was a long silence at the table before Moody nodded. “Classic asset management,” he said approvingly. “Making the best with whatcha got. I like it.” 

What went unsaid was that Moody knew Dumbledore had a vast array of experience at his disposal in doing just that. It had practically been the Order of the Phoenix’s mantra during the last War.

“I have my concerns,” Amelia voiced, “but I also don’t have any better idea, and I admit your points are also valid. It is not a good option; not even remotely.”

“But it is our best option,” Shacklebolt finished in his deep, baritone-like voice. 

All of them knew what the next question was. Who would they send into Hogwarts?

“I’m going.” 

Nobody was surprised when James Potter spoke up. He was a Gryffindor through and through. No task was too insurmountable for him to personally and persistently attack with fervor. With both of his sons at Hogwarts, the situation was most definitely one that he felt he should handle.

It wasn’t a secret that his heir had already been at least indirectly implicated as a potential suspect. The Daily Prophet saw to the fact that information became very public. Yet it also wasn’t a secret that he was rather close with the Greengrass Heiress. They’d been seen together at several social gatherings, and were clearly more than simple acquaintances. Her attack, in the eyes of all but the extremists, ruled him out as a potential candidate. 

Well, the extremists and Albus Dumbledore, but he didn’t truly suspect Harry. He suspected the Potter Heir as a device, not as a culprit.

Unfortunately for James Potter, one such extremist did sit at the table.

“Your son’s a suspect, Potter,” growled Moody. “We can’t let you investigate a case involving your family.”

James straightened his posture as a bit of redness crept into his cheeks. “What are you implying, Moody?”

“I’m not implyin’ nothing. I’m just going off the evidence, like I always do. I’m not saying your son is the Heir of Slytherin. Don’t know one way or the other, and it would be stupid of me to pretend I did. But that doesn’t change the fact he’s a suspect.” Moody fixed James with a hard stare before the man could protest. “And if Harry Potter isn’t a suspect, then Charlus Potter damn sure is. I’m sorry, James, but anybody who can speak to snakes while Slytherin’s spawn runs about making hell is a suspect. It’s not an argument, and there’s no way around it.”

James opened his mouth but quickly closed it. 

He really had no counter to that, and he could do little more than sit back in his seat and let the meeting continue.

_**That night, in the Great Hall…** _

It had been a trying number of days for the forsaken Potter.

Ever since Daphne’s disappearance, he’d felt less than stable. Sure, the effects of his mental trials could be partially negated by the suppression of emotion, but he’d learned the hard way in the Speaker’s Den the consequences of suppressing too much of it at his level. Emily had also explained it and, in hindsight, his unstable Occlumency had never had a chance.

He’d used it rather conservatively since then, just enough to get by, but it had been a very rough number of days.

Righteous flames of fury burned hot within him, licking hungrily at his innards and seeming to make a furious attempt to devour any self-restraint he had left. 

By now, he had decided that if he met this Heir of Slytherin, he was going to make the bastard pay.

What exactly he would do... Harry hadn’t yet decided, but whatever it turned out to be would wind up being less than pleasant.

He’d recently hit a roadblock when considering launching his own investigations into the matter, though.

Well, a roadblock that wasn’t the school-wide lockdown, that was. That of course was a massive pain, but there was hardly anything he could do about that.

News of the rather polarizing Wizengamot meeting had spread across the country faster than a speeding bludger. By now, every man, woman, and child in Magical Britain seemed acutely aware of all that had taken place at the meeting.

The Heir of Slytherin had intervened, forcing the court to make a less than ideal decision that would just have to do.

The three assigned Aurors had arrived just hours after the meeting, and the lockdown of Hogwarts was in place by the time they had arrived. Harry hated it already. Being confined wasn’t something he did well with. He already knew he would be breaking curfew when he had a chance, but therein laid the problem. 

Getting caught out after curfew would be disastrous as is, but being caught for anything that could even remotely be connected to the Chamber of Secrets would be catastrophic. 

Much of the school’s population seemed to have retracted their suspicions towards Harry after his best friend had disappeared. Some particularly bold Gryffindors had firmly maintained their previous opinion, but the percentage of students who thought him the Heir was now rather slim. It actually appeared as though now, many more students suspected Charlus to be the Heir. How it had taken them this long to accuse his brother, Harry wasn’t sure.

He knew Charlus wasn’t the Heir of Slytherin. The mere idea that he could be was positively laughable. He still should have been more highly suspected than Harry though. The Boy-Who-Lived had quite literally revealed himself as a Parselmouth, for Merlin’s sake — and that was saying nothing of the dangerous magic he had haphazardly thrown around during his duel with Harry. Magic that Harry knew much of the Hogwarts population naively viewed as being dark.

Speaking of which, he really needed to start learning some of the more powerful magic at his disposal. He’d meant to look into that, but Daphne’s disappearance had effectively derailed all the plans he’d had.

Though most of the student body seemed to have come to their senses, one rather important figure had not.

That figure was Albus Dumbledore.

Well — and Gilderoy Lockhart, but as worrying as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor could be at times, Harry was far more troubled by the constant observations of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

Dumbledore had watched him like a hawk ever since Daphne had gone missing. It was as though he somehow suspected Harry even more now that Daphne had vanished. As if he’d attacked her for the sole purpose of drawing the suspicion off of himself. Harry wasn’t going to claim he was a shining paragon of morality, and his moral code may have been a bit skewed, at times, but come on. He wasn’t that bad a person. 

The Sorting Hat had summarized it well. He would be loyal to those close to him, however few they turned out to be.

But for whatever reason, Dumbledore seemed to have an inherent distrust of him that Harry couldn’t seem to shake. He could sort of see where the man was coming from before the disappearance of his closest friend. Granted, no Slytherin would directly implicate themselves in the way it appeared to some as if Harry had done, but he could see where the old man was coming from. At least at a quick glance, it had not looked good for him.

Yes, Dumbledore was a problem.

He wasn’t confident in looking into the Chamber of Secrets so long as Dumbledore was around. The man wasn’t just persistent, he was observant. Not to say that he saw more than what he wanted to see, but Harry could very easily picture a scenario where the old man discovered Harry’s own investigations, something that could very easily be turned against him.

He couldn’t let that happen. 

Being expelled from Hogwarts would mean that he was one step closer to becoming an expendable member of the Potter family in the eyes of the law. One step closer to what Harry believed to be Peter Pettigrew’s dastardly plan coming to fruition. Thank Merlin he hadn’t been placed at Hogwarts. Harry was actually surprised he hadn’t been, seeing as he was the top detective of the DMLE. Not that he was complaining; the less contact he had with Pettigrew, the better. Harry didn’t have the power to lash out at the man, so his current strategy was to not engage at all costs.

He barely realized that dinner had concluded, so lost he had been in his deep, internal contemplations. He stood numbly, walking alongside his friends down towards Slytherin’s home in the dungeons. 

He felt a light touch on his arm before he could step through the entrance and into the Slytherin common room. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Tracey was eyeing him with a rather nervous-looking expression. “What’s up, Tracey?”

She frowned, likely because his voice sounded just as hollow and as monotone as it had since he had emerged from the Speaker’s Den Monday morning — where he had locked himself in the room for the weekend following the panic induced collapse of his Occlumency. 

“Can we talk?”

Harry nearly sighed aloud. “This isn’t going to be a fun conversation, is it?”

“No, but it’s a conversation we need to have.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. He’d suspected this was coming, but that didn’t mean he was any more enthusiastic about the fact it had finally arrived. Still, he didn’t argue.

He knew it would be useless to argue.

They found themselves locked up in an abandoned classroom minutes later. Its door had just been bombarded by every privacy measure Harry knew. Which was admittedly far fewer than he would have liked.

He set his jaw as he turned towards Tracey, looking more as if he were about to dive headfirst into a death-defying stunt as opposed to entering a conversation with one of his best friends. “So, what’s up?”

“You,” she answered simply. “You haven’t been right ever since… you know.” Her voice sounded rather small at the end, and Harry felt a small pang of guilt rear up within him. 

He’d been so worried about his own mental struggles over the past four days that he had never even considered how his friends might be coping with the situation, let alone actually stop to help them. Not that he had been in any state to be helpful emotionally. 

Hell, not that he had ever been in any state to be of emotional assistance, but that was beside the point.

“Merlin, Tracey,” he muttered. “I have been a bit... closed off recently. How are you-“

“Nuh uh,” Tracey interjected. “No switching topics on me. You might be cunning, but I know you. I know you’re going to want to avoid this conversation, but that wouldn’t help anybody.”

Harry winced. Yes, he could see how it had looked like he had been doing just that, even though it hadn’t been his true intention.

Well — it hadn’t been his conscious intention, anyway. He imagined his subconscious would have been quite thrilled to have put this chat on the back burner.

“You know I’m no good at this whole emotions thing, right?”

Tracey looked rather saddened by that comment. “I do, which is exactly why we’re talking. I don’t expect it to be easy. I’m just trying to help. I know you might not think of it this way, but it’s like I told you back at Daphne’s place in the summer; talking about it really does make it easier. Most of the time, at least.”

Harry stared at her for what had to have been no less than ten seconds. When it became clear the small strawberry blonde wasn’t about to relent, he deflated. 

“I… don’t actually know,” he answered. “I feel like I want to kill the Heir of Slytherin; actually kill them, but I also feel… depressed? Hopeless?” He shivered. “Helpless.”

Tracey studied him carefully. “Can I ask you a personal question, Harry?” She held up her hand before he could answer. “I don’t need a detailed answer. A simple one will do.”

“I… might not answer it, but you can ask.”

“Out of depression, hopelessness, and helplessness, which one makes you feel the worst? Don’t think about it, just answer.”

He didn’t need to think at all. “Helplessness,” he answered without a second’s hesitation.

“When… when you lived with your relatives, did you ever feel helpless? Do you think that’s where your hatred for it comes from?” Slowly, he nodded. “Do you think it’s a fear, or do you just not like it?”

Harry knew the answer at once, but really didn’t want to give it. 

He didn’t have to.

His silence spoke volumes, and Tracey nodded in a manner that indicated that had been her guess all along.

“It’s not going to completely go away,” she admitted. Harry had known that already, though it still struck deeply to hear aloud. “But it can be helped.”

“How?”

“I find being productive works. Thing is, you’re too much of an introvert sometimes. When… you know — it happened, you completely turned in on yourself and just disappeared into your own head. You were so worried about dealing with everything that you pretty much stopped being productive. At least while doing things, your mind isn’t always on the problem, and you feel like you’re actually making progress at something, which is kind of like the opposite of helplessness, in a way.”

That… actually made a considerable amount of sense, and it lined up quite well with his past experiences.

Any time he could remember feeling particularly strong amounts of that exact emotion, he had essentially thrown himself head-long into his projects and had slowly begun to feel better.

It wasn’t a fix. Like Tracey had said, something as major as this wasn’t simply going to go away, but anything that could make it better would be appreciated.

“As for wanting to kill the heir,” Tracey continued. “I… don’t really know what to say to that. This is probably where I should tell you it’s an awful idea and lecture you about how awful it is, but…”

“You wouldn’t blame me if I did.”

Reluctantly, Tracey nodded. “No,” she said softly, a certain fierceness in her voice. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“It could be Malfoy.” The thought had been floating at the forefront of his mind for some time now, even though he had his doubts.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugged. “Daphne set him up at the New Year’s Eve gala. If he figured it out, it would make sense.”

“But that’s using the same logic everyone used against you when the twins went missing,” Tracey pointed out, and Harry knew at once that she was right. “I don’t know about you, but I’m noticing a pattern here. This Heir of Slytherin seems to do things the same way over and over again. Attacking targets that point to other people as the attacker.”

Many people might not have viewed Tracey as a Slytherin. She seemed far too personable, bubbly, outgoing and even naive at times. 

Harry could see exactly why she was a Slytherin.

Coming from a rather shitty background himself, he had no doubt that a certain degree of cunning had formed during her primitive years, even if it wasn’t as obvious as his, or others’ in the house. Ambition, too, most likely; though he hadn’t inquired about that. 

Regardless, Tracey was observant.

She could read him better than any of his friends, save maybe Daphne. She had realized something was up with the Dursleys very early on, if his assumptions were correct, and she’d read him rather remarkably this year.

Maybe she didn’t read situations best all the time, but she had an innate ability to read people that lent itself rather splendidly to Slytherin House. She just hadn’t liberally put that talent to use, as of yet.

“I want to find out who it is.” His voice was soft and it shook slightly, something he wasn’t particularly proud of.

Tracey looked him dead in the eye. “Harry, I could sit here and tell you for hours how terrible of an idea that is. I really could. It’s a very non-Slytherin thing to do, but I’m not going to tell you anything. I know you. You’re an offensive player, and you’re restless. You can’t sit back and watch things happen when you’re this tied up in them. It’s something for you to work on, but not something you can just fix overnight. 

“I know that you’re not going to rest until you’ve at least tried. Honestly, you’re going to eventually go after the heir- whether you plan to or not. So I won’t tell you not to. I will just ask that you be extremely careful while doing so.”

“I can’t,” he said bitterly. “Dumbledore is jumping at shadows, nowadays. If he sees me do anything even remotely suspicious, he’ll ship me out of here faster than I can say frame job.”

“Well then, get rid of him.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You can’t be suggesting—”

“I don’t mean kill him!” Tracey exclaimed, scandalized. “I mean get him out of the castle.”

Harry snorted. “Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

“I don’t think it’s actually as hard as you think. The Wizengamot even talked about it. People’s faith is shaky in everything about Hogwarts right now, Dumbledore included. All you would need is a majority vote from the Hogwarts Board of Governors.”

“Isn’t Lucius Malfoy on the board?”

“He’s the head of it, yeah.”

That was a start.

Lord Malfoy seemed all too willing to do some favours for Harry in an attempt to earn his eventual allegiance, so long as those favours didn’t disadvantage him in any way.

Lucius also despised Dumbledore. That fact was well-known, but it complicated matters.

On the one hand, it meant that he would jump at the opportunity to get the codger thrown out. On the other, it meant that he’d probably already looked into the prospects of doing so and hadn’t liked his odds.

Which meant a new variable would need to enter the equation.

Something that, in one way or another, would be able to begin building a strong case against Albus Dumbledore. 

Harry didn’t know what the answer was to that, but it was a start. 

A crazy start, but a start.

He had no delusions that he might actually succeed in the endeavour, but improving as a wizard and taking the first, seemingly impossible step to removing the threat of the Heir of Slytherin would hopefully occupy his mind long enough to avoid the rather crippling mental state he’d been in the last few days.

Anything to escape the oppressive helplessness on all sides. He was more than willing to attempt something impossible if it would keep his damn mind at work.

_**January 15, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
8:00 PM** _

Grace wasted no time beginning their practice as soon as Harry walked through the door.

“We’re duelling,” she said decisively, something that took Harry a bit aback. Most often, their duels were saved for the end of a session. Probably because Harry usually ended up battered and exhausted after just about all of them.

Surprised he might have been, but opposed he was not.

He complied easily, slipping his wand into his hand and focusing hard.

It only took him twenty-or-so seconds to realize that Grace was humouring him. 

She had offered up nothing offensive at all, and simply sat back and defended all of his attacks without a great deal of trouble. This only further fuelled his frustration, and his casting rate increased as he poured more and more power into each and every spell.

It was the longest the two of them had ever duelled.

That wasn’t so much a mark of Harry’s improvements — though he had improved greatly — as much as it was Grace bafflingly deciding to duel in a purely defensive style.

Eventually, Harry became fatigued. His wand-arm shook as his spell casting slowed and his movements stalled. This was when Grace finally decided to go on the offensive, at which point she disarmed him without much effort. 

Harry slumped against the wall, exhausted. Grace considered tossing him back his wand, but she had no illusions he would be successful at catching it, at least, not in his current state. She made her way over and handed it to him, handle first.

Bemusedly, he accepted it. “What was that about?” he panted. “You could have beaten me so much faster.” 

Harry felt odd. It wasn’t just that he was tired. He felt… lighter, somehow.

“My goal wasn’t to beat you,” Grace said simply. When Harry looked confused, her lips twitched. “With respect, Harry, the winner of the duel was always going to be me. You are extremely talented for your age. I would love to see you duel a talented fourth year, or even a decent-enough fifth year. But you were never going to beat me. I doubt anybody in this castle who isn’t one of the more talented professors would beat me if I am being completely honest with you.”

“But it still wasn’t your goal?”

“No, it wasn’t. My goal was to let you vent. You needed it; it was obvious. I could see the tension in you all week. It needed a release. I have no problem being the target of it when need be. It’s not a good way of solving your problems, but sometimes, it can help, if other measures have also been taken.”

Harry sagged where he now sat. “You’re going to talk to me about this, too?”

“No, not really. I can already see somebody has done that, and done a pretty good job of it too. You have looked much better in the last day or so. I will never force you to talk.” She paused. “Well, I would force you to talk to me if I thought it was absolutely necessary, but it isn’t something I would do unless it was really needed. I’m always happy to talk if you’d like, but I know I’m probably not the best person for that job.” 

Why she would want that job at all still baffled Harry, but he shoved that mystery aside, for now.

“What I’m better qualified to speak about is using Occlumency to suppress emotions.”

He winced. “Charlotte told you, then?”

“She didn’t have to. It didn’t take a deductive genius to figure it out.” She pierced him with a hard, yet somewhat sad stare. “I know emotions aren’t your forte. Frankly, they’re not mine either, but relying entirely on suppression is not a good thing. Even if you’re meaning to do it short-term, it isn’t healthy.”

“Because of how unstable my shields are right now while they become automatic?”

Grace’s eyebrow rose. “Your mysterious teacher strikes again, I see.” Harry didn’t meet her eyes, but she didn’t comment on it any further. “Yes, that is an issue at your current level, but it’s not actually what I was referring to. Suppressing emotion doesn’t really get rid of it. It just sort of… stores it away. 

“The most effective method is to initially suppress an emotion and then very slowly, very gradually let it leak through. You will feel very little of it, and you’ll avoid the build-up. Unless you want to permanently suppress an emotion — which you don’t — you will eventually need to deal with it. Letting them accumulate is a very bad idea. When you let go of it… well, picture the emotion you suppressed, but amplified several times depending on how long you bottled it up.”

Harry winced; that did not sound fun. 

Reading up on the idea of letting emotions slowly seep through immediately moved to the top of his to-do list — and as soon as he returned from this session with Grace, he would be making a beeline for the Speaker’s Den. He likely wouldn’t retreat until classes necessitated it, or until he gained at least some degree of proficiency over this new ability.

“I’ll… keep it in mind.”

That didn’t seem good enough for Grace.

“Promise me that you won’t fully suppress powerful, negative emotions for long periods of time. And if you absolutely must, then promise me you will have somebody you trust there to help. Preferably somebody with at least a passable understanding of the Mind Arts. If you trust anybody in my family, we would all easily qualify.”

Harry considered this and found that, for whatever reason, he couldn’t say no to Grace.

“I promise that I’ll at least do the second one, but will try for the first.”

Grace nodded curtly. “Alright then. Shall we continue?”

_**January 16, 1993  
Gilderoy Lockhart’s Office  
8:00 PM** _

Charlus had been having a piss-poor week to punctuate what could accurately and succinctly be summarized as a piss-poor year. 

The school had spent most of the week completely locked down, and that fact was slowly driving Charlus completely insane. 

He was not a patient person.

Anyone who knew him knew this to be true. He also practically had a stadium full of detentions, so that hadn’t been helping his mood. Nor had the oppressive blanket of depression and worry that seemed to rest heavily atop the castle, drowning out all hope and glee under its insurmountable weight. 

His best mate had also been taken out of Hogwarts, which made bearing the castle’s misery all the more difficult. He liked Hermione; he really did, but she wasn’t Ron. She was a fantastically supportive friend with enough intelligence for the three of them, but Ron made him light up in a way that Hermione couldn’t. He could break the tension with a joke, or do something amusingly endearing without even realizing it. Hermione, for all of her talents, was reliably capable of neither of these things.

It had been a long week that compounded into a long year.

And now he’d been called to Lockhart’s office.

He vaguely remembered how displeased the man had been with him after his duel with Harry. He wondered if this was Lockhart finally deciding to punish him, even though Dumbledore had assured him he wouldn’t receive any punishment for that. In a court of law, anyone deemed to be mentally unstable enough to have not been considered liable for their actions couldn’t be prosecuted. This was exactly how so many of Voldemort’s Death Eaters had successfully avoided Azkaban through the use of the Imperius Defence. It was also exactly how Charlus had escaped that particular circumstance with little more than a plea to be far more careful in the future.

It wouldn’t make sense for Lockhart to punish him since he was sure the man had been made aware of the details by now. He just couldn’t think of any other reason why he might be summoned to his office. It wasn’t yet curfew, but he was still escorted by Filch, something that made the experience a whole lot less pleasant. Charlus privately thought it was needless torture on the part of whoever had ordered that particular detail. If the Heir of Slytherin came strolling around the corner, it wasn’t as if Filch, a notorious squib, could have done anything about it.

So lost was Charlus in his despair that he hardly realized the two of them had reached Professor Lockhart’s office until Filch knocked sharply on the door. After a moment, he and Charlus were staring at the rather tired-looking form of Gilderoy Lockhart. Despite the obvious fatigue that had seemed to cling persistently to his visage over the past number of weeks, Lockhart managed a small smile at the sight of them.

“Ah yes, Mister Potter, do come in. Thank you for bringing him, Mr. Filch. I’ll see him safely back to his common room when we are finished.” 

Filch didn’t even acknowledge the comment. He just turned on his heel and shuffled back down the corridor, muttering something in a low voice that Charlus couldn’t decipher.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I summoned you tonight?” said Lockhart, suddenly looking much less jovial and a lot more business-like. 

Charlus nodded carefully. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t expecting to be called to your office.”

“No, I would have been surprised if you had been.” Lockhart watched the Boy-Who-Lived carefully, intensely curious as to how he would react to his next proclamation. “You are obviously very eager to learn,” Lockhart said pensively.

When it became apparent he was actually waiting for an answer, Charlus hastened to provide one. “Yes, sir. I need to get much better.”

Lockhart seemed very satisfied with that answer. Charlus couldn’t possibly know that it was his demeanour while answering that satisfied Lockhart more than the answer itself, but he also wouldn’t have cared much one way or the other. The semantics hardly mattered when compared to the result.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Lockhart sounded rather sincere, and Charlus dipped his head in thanks. “It only makes it all the more unfortunate that you were led so far astray.” The young lion tensed, but Lockhart didn’t look particularly upset. “Relax, Mister Potter. I have no intention of punishing you. As a matter of fact, I have a… proposition for you.”

“A… proposition?”

“Yes, a proposition. You see, it’s obvious that you want to learn. You certainly have the talent, and the drive is there, it’s just not being applied in the right places. With the correct guidance, you could be something great.” Lockhart’s expression darkened. “With the wrong guidance, well, as we’ve seen…” he didn’t need to finish.

“Are you… offering to teach me, sir?”

“I am indeed. I have spoken to Albus about this at length. According to him, he mentioned that he would like you to learn Occlumency?” Charlus nodded and Gilderoy did likewise. “A good idea. It would certainly have made your… situation much less dramatic. If you accept my offer, I’ll help you with the meditative stages of Occlumency. My Occlumency is nothing spectacular, but it is more than sufficient. I will never be an Occlumency instructor, but I’m confident enough in my ability to teach a complete beginner.

“If you accept my offer, we’ll spend about an hour twice a week working on this stage of Occlumency. It will take months before you can move past the meditative stage, so this will require a great deal of patience on your part.”

Charlus set his jaw. “I’ll work for as long as I need to.”

“Good, good. If you accept, we will be spending an additional hour together each time we meet. This hour will be spent learning magic.” 

Charlus’s eyes lit up. “What kind of magic, sir?”

Lockhart smiled thinly. “I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Charlus. I am an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and I have an Order of Merlin thanks to my own heroism. Surely you need not ask which sort of magic I will be teaching you?”

Charlus’s face was practically glowing now as he nodded with fervour. “I accept, sir.”

Lockhart’s smile widened as he withdrew his wand and conjured a mat on the floor. “Very good, very good. Well then, let us begin.”

_**January 17, 1993  
An Abandoned Classroom  
9:14 PM** _

Harry dodged a well-aimed Cutting Curse from Cassius, sidestepping and countering with a basic Stunner. He and Cassius had been main duelling partners for the better part of the year. He was the least skilled of the four older students. Not that it was saying much. He was still probably one of the better fifth years in the school, and Harry had yet to beat him even once.

Something about this duel felt different.

He couldn’t put his finger on what, aside from the new weapons that had been added to his repertoire over the past forty-eight hours.

After his practice with Grace, he had immediately rushed off to the Speaker’s Den. He hadn’t only studied slowly allowing emotion to leak through, but he’d also written in the book he used to communicate with Emily.

He had been rather candid with his questions, even if it had taken several minutes and a bit of gentle coaxing from the genius in question for him to finally ask said questions.

After listing off the tomes he had on the Dark Arts, he asked which would be the best to start with.

Calypso’s, the one she’d sent the Christmas of his first year, was the answer she provided. The one Pettigrew gifted him for his birthday — the one he was now sure had been a plant — was ironically his second-best option, according to Emily.

That had given him a place to start, and he picked up some of the more basic curses rather quickly. He hadn’t dipped into the more powerful and complex magic yet, but the boost to his arsenal was much appreciated.

He batted Cassius’s next spell towards him and quickly fired off a Blinding Curse in return. Cassius’s eyes widened as he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a Full-Body-Bind follow up in the process.

When he got to his feet, the fifth-year Slytherin prefect looked to counter-attack, but no opening was there.

Harry was relying heavily on his Supplementary Occlumency, casting spells at a rapid rate and not allowing Cassius time to go on the offensive while forcing him to shield.

That was when Harry struck.

“Iapetus!”

He’d learned in the last number of days that spell — the same one Charlus had shot off towards him at the end of their duel — was the Piercing Hex. Rather fitting, considering Iapetus — Greek Titan of the West — was known as the Piercer.

It was one of his more powerful offerings, and it tore straight through Cassius’s Protego shield, though the translucent barrier of magic did manage to absorb most of the impact.

It didn’t matter.

Cassius was so taken aback by Harry managing to fail his shield after so many months of trying that he hardly even noticed that the Piercing Hex hadn’t been the only spell Harry had fired.

Indeed, the spell hadn’t been singular, but the first in a chain.

The follow-up Bludgeoner hit Cassius square in the chest, dropping him to his knees, before Harry’s Banishing Hex sent him sailing backwards through the air. Mercifully, the duelling wards kept him from slamming into a solid wall, but he was still rather dazed when he’d hit the ground.

All in the room were quiet.

Their duel had been the longest, and so the others had been watching.

After about five seconds, Calypso began to clap, and even the Carrows followed. Cassius didn’t, but he was offering Harry a smile that was equal parts annoyed, exasperated, and impressed.

Calypso was by his side in a moment, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as her blue eyes met his, sparkling as they did so. “And that,” Calypso summarized succinctly, “is just a taste of what you’ll one day be.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile.

He had no delusions that the only reason he’d beaten Cassius was because the boy in question had been taken aback and caught off guard, but that wasn’t his problem.

As a matter of fact, he suspected most anybody who duelled him would fall into that trap.

It wasn’t as if a twelve-year-old could pose any threat, right?

For now, Harry would rely on that advantage.

Until one day, he was powerful enough that he wouldn’t need it.

Not against older students, nor professors, nor anyone.

Slowly but surely, he was making progress.

_**January 24, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:07 PM** _

Grace pulled out of Charlotte’s mind with a grimace. Her little sister was indubitably getting much better at Occlumency. She wasn’t improving quite as fast as Grace was in Legilimency, but it was close, and once a certain level of Occlumency was achieved, it took a very highly skilled practitioner of Legilimency to breach an Occlumens mind.

“You’re getting much better,” Charlotte commented, seeming to be thinking along the same lines as Grace.

Grace grimaced once more. “So are you. I think it’s safe to say you’ve now advanced past stage three and are on stage four.”

Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “I get to build a mind palace now then, don’t I?”

“You do, but that will take months and months of practice. I don’t expect you to have made a whole lot of progress on that even by the end of the school year.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Grace smirked. Her sister loathed being told she couldn’t, or most likely wouldn’t be able to do something. “Take it as you will.”

“A challenge it is, then.” The two sisters exchanged brief smiles before Charlotte grew more serious. “I know it’s late, but can I try something with Legilimency?”

“That depends on what it is you’d like to try.”

“The transferring of emotions, impressions, and images.”

Grace frowned. “That is… very advanced. Even for you.”

“I’m an ambitious person.”

Grace sighed; resigned to the fact that Charlotte wasn’t going to drop this until she complied. “Fine, but we won’t be staying all night.”

Charlotte beamed as she readied her wand, though her older sister could never have realized the true implications of such a seemingly innocent request.

_**January 25, 1993  
The Slytherin Common Room  
5:24 AM** _

Harry always rose early, but that fact had only become even more true since Daphne’s disappearance just over two weeks ago.

He hadn’t slept well since, though it had noticeably improved after his talk with Tracey and his training session with Grace.

There were other factors, too.

With Hogwarts on such tight restrictions due to the ongoing Heir of Slytherin crisis, Harry thought that sneaking out early in the morning would be his best opportunity to safely make it down to his dungeon classroom without being caught so that he could train.

Thus far, nobody had ever seen him leave the common room, though that was about to change.

“Potter.”

The voice was only vaguely familiar. He had only heard it a handful of times in his life. It was soft yet strong, and rather cold by nature. He did recognize it, but if his memory was any less stellar, he most certainly would not have.

“Miss Black,” he responded, turning and inclining his head to the Black Heiress.

“May I walk with you? I’d like a word. I… have something I’d like to ask you.” She sounded shockingly unsure of herself during that last sentence, and Harry couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Especially now that she was no longer hanging around with Draco Malfoy.

The morning after Aurors had arrived at the castle, Draco had been pulled from Hogwarts by his father. Lucius apparently wanted to send him to Durmstrang, whereas Narcissa vehemently wished for him to be schooled at Beauxbatons, if not Hogwarts. There was apparently a clause in Lucius and Narcissa’s marriage contract that gave Narcissa a large degree of control over Draco’s education. If this was true, the Malfoy Heir might well end up being the first of his line to attend Beauxbatons since his disgraced ancestors vacated the nation of France centuries earlier. 

At least, that was what Pansy had told them, and nobody gossiped with such startling accuracy as Pansy Parkinson. If her match existed, Harry certainly hadn’t met them yet. 

Without their leader, Malfoy’s group had sort of fallen into disarray. They’d somewhat grouped around Theodore Nott, but the designation didn’t exactly seem rock-solid.

Harry found himself rather curious as to what Ares Black possibly wanted with him.

Wary, but curious.

“I can’t let you walk all the way with me, but you can come for a bit if you’d like.” 

This was obviously an acceptable compromise, as Black was on her feet and by his side before he exited the Slytherin common room. 

Knowing that their time would be limited, Harry spoke first. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I would like to slide into your group.”

That had not been what Harry was expecting. He hadn’t known what to expect, but that would have been very far down on his list of expectations had he made one. 

Thanks to his Occlumency, his surprise didn’t show. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I chose the group of friends I hang around with now purely because of Draco. Our families are close, and he was one of the only people I was ever allowed to spend actual time with. He was my first and only friend when I came to Hogwarts because I was never exactly given much of a choice. He was told to watch out for me at Hogwarts by his father, and he offered me a smooth entry into his group.”

A part of Harry wanted to give her the same speech he’d given Pansy in regards to Malfoy, especially with the minute chance he’d been the Heir of Slytherin. He thought that chance was next to nothing, but there hadn’t been an attack or disappearance since he was pulled from Hogwarts almost two weeks ago.

Something about Ares Black put him on edge. Something that he couldn’t quantify, even to himself. Yet her words resonated with him.

Reading between the lines, he had little trouble deciphering the fact that she’d been isolated as a child; forced to have virtually no friends. By the time she had arrived at Hogwarts, she hadn’t even bothered putting any real effort into making any new ones.

He could relate to both of those things.

“But you’ve hung around with that group for a while now,” Harry said carefully, eliciting a small nod of agreement from his companion. “Surely you’ve made more friends by now?”

Ares shrugged. “It is a very business-centred group, Potter. I get the impression yours is a lot closer than ours. I was close with Draco, and I get on fairly well with Benedict, but he’s been a ghost since October. He would only hang around me when Draco wasn’t there and even then, he was quiet and not the same.”

That was interesting. 

October was around the time the _Daily Prophet_ had so drastically switched its tune. “Cuffe is the son of the _Prophet’s_ editor, right?”

“And majority stakeholder, yes.”

That was definitely suspicious. It lined up too well to be a mere coincidence in Harry’s opinion.

It seemed he would have another request of Lord Malfoy as soon as he got somewhere with a quill and parchment.

“So you’re only really close with Cuffe?”

“We’re friendly, but not close.” She levelled him with her intense eyes. Anybody else might have withered under her gaze, but Harry met it neutrally. “Surely you can understand why I’d like to shift groups? Crabbe and Goyle have the intellect of bricks and couldn’t hold a conversation if their vaults depended on it. Mulciber and Jugson are around every now and then, but neither of them is overly interesting. Theodore is clever, but I find him taxing.

“You on the other hand… you’re interesting.”

Harry didn’t react to that immediately; he just kept on walking. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re probably the most intelligent student within a few years of my age, and you always seem to be in the centre of whatever’s going on around here. It doesn’t seem like you try to be. It just sort of happens.” 

And wasn’t that the truth? 

Harry had tried to stay out of this Chamber of Secrets business for the longest time, but his attempts had repeatedly been thwarted. He was still trying to come up with ideas to get Dumbledore out of the castle, but he hadn’t been overly successful. 

“Unlike Draco’s group, you also seem to have no trouble standing up for what you believe in. In a Gryffindor-ish way, sometimes, but it’s refreshing to see you as an actual human being. Not just a person who was practically turned into a political machine before they were ten.”

Their footsteps echoed ominously against the flagged stone floor as they neared the suit of armour that would step aside and admit Harry into the secret passage that would lead him to his dungeon training room. 

“Why should I trust you, Black?”

He thought it was a fair question. Her logic was sound, and he could find no fault with anything she’d said, but something about her still had him on edge.

But all doubts vanished when her lips curved up into a smile for the first time, and her eyes gleamed with something Harry couldn’t discern. 

“Because if you do, I can help you find the Heir of Slytherin.”

_**February 1, 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:39 AM** _

_Heir Potter,  
I am pleased to inform you that the artifact we spoke of has been sold for the extremely generous sum we discussed. No fees will be taken out of the 12,000 galleons deposited into the vault you specified, as the Greengrass family will be covering all of them._

_Send me an owl if you have any questions._

_A pleasure doing business with you,  
Veronica Tate_

So, the dagger had finally sold.

That put a rather sizable chunk of money in the vault which the Weitts family had already contributed to on his birthday. It added to the security net he was building should things suddenly fall apart, possibly as a result of Pettigrew’s suspected plan.

Yet the dagger business wasn’t the major news of the morning.

The major news, according to Pansy and the Hogwarts rumour mill, was that the Heir of Slytherin had struck again.

Lillian Moon, the small, quiet girl from Harry’s year had gone missing last night without a trace and had yet to be found. Officially, the staff and Aurors weren’t calling it a disappearance yet, but all in the castle could see the obvious signs of the Heir of Slytherin’s work.

Harry was going to unmask the Heir of Slytherin.

This changed nothing. If anything, it only disproved the minuscule chance that it had been Draco, and it let him know that the person who’d made Daphne disappear was still running roughshod in the halls.

Hopefully not for much longer.

When the news had broken, Harry had shot a discreet glance in the direction of Ares Black, who had promised to help him investigate the situation a week ago; a promise that had gained her a tentative entry into Harry’s circle of friends. He was assuming that fact was why Theodore Nott had been glaring at him more intensely than usual this last week.

When he had glanced towards Ares, she gave him a hard look full of meaning.

The message was clear.

She was already working on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not the longest nor the most eventful chapter ever, but it was a major one in terms of characterization, and it will set a lot of major events into motion. Some of them will be more obvious than others, but all of them will help us reach the climax of year two, which is closer than I think most of you expect.**
> 
> **These next few months will pass in the story rather quickly as the finale draws near, and I am tingling with excitement for you to all see how I plan to wrap up year two.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 12th, 2020. Or you can read it by joining my Discord server, or the next two by supporting me on Patreon. The links can be found on my profile.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, CCCP, and discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	27. Carefully Calculated Strikes Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**
> 
> **Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Athena Hope, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**February 14, 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:34 AM** _

Harry almost gawked at the sight that lay before him as he entered the luridly painted Great Hall. 

The walls were done in rather vivid attempts at subtle accents. Subtle, in this case, just so happened to be subtle in the same way getting hit over the head was. 

In other words, not subtle at all.

Likely, it was designed by Dumbledore or someone else on the staff who either wouldn’t know subtlety if it punched them in the face, or was too old or too self-important to care.

In addition to the walls being painted red, two sets of armour now stood guard outside the Great Hall, one on either side of its large entry doors…

Two suits of armour that weren’t made of armour at all.

This particular set of armoured defenders were instead made entirely out of white chocolate.

Harry presumed Dumbledore had done that. McGonagall surely could have, but he had a hard time believing the strict professor of Transfiguration would have a sense of humour that might lean in that direction. It seemed far more like something that Dumbledore would think up, and the Hogwarts Headmaster was doubtlessly capable of the feat.

Had Lockhart kept up his flamboyant persona from the beginning of the year, Harry would have easily categorized him in the same, eccentric boat as Dumbledore. Judging by what Lockhart had put forth since he took up his position among the other members of the illustrious Hogwarts staff, Harry didn’t think it was his style. 

No matter who had conjured the tacky excuses for decorations into being, Harry did not approve. However dumbstruck Harry looked, Blaise definitely looked worse. Harry looked as if he’d perhaps been insulted by a rather clever one-liner. Blaise, on the other hand, looked as if somebody had just blasted his mother with the Killing Curse.

“Stai scherzando, cazzo!” Harry peered curiously at Blaise, raising a brow in question. His friend just waved him off. “Just letting whatever idiot put all this up know that I do not at all approve.”

Harry nodded intently. “You’ll hear no disagreement from me.”

The two of them took their seats near the middle of the Slytherin table. Tracey was already present, and apparently had been sitting long enough to take note of the heart-shaped confetti falling from the hall’s enchanted ceiling like red and pink rain droplets. The strawberry blonde seemed to find it amusing, though Harry and the others found it rather cumbersome and altogether inconvenient. 

By now, most of the school seemed to suspect Charlus as the Heir more than they did Harry, so he had lost his escorts. This left him able to move more freely through the castle. Or at least, it would have had it not been for the strict lockdown that was in effect any time students weren’t going from class to class, or on their way to and from meals that the castle’s elves were obligated to serve them. Harry noticed that Charlotte was sitting with Laine and Ginny closer to the end of the table. 

He then became almost immediately distracted by the owl that landed in front of him, for the daily mail chose that moment to surge into the hall, carried by a multi-coloured cloud of wings, talons and feathers.

_Harry,  
Your plan is, to put it lightly, bold. _

_I am sure you knew this already. Ignoring the obvious risks associated with such a daring move, it could work. That is also speaking of the risks that have no association with legality._

_Legally speaking, you are well within your rights to reveal the information you mentioned, as we discussed during the Yuletide break. However, revealing it this early does have its risks._

_It will lessen the impact of the information when the time comes to use it as a weapon in a legal sense, but I don’t think we will need the shock factor to win the upcoming case. And revealing it now would certainly accomplish your ideal outcome. At least, it would greatly raise the chances of it happening, though it probably wouldn’t do so on its own. You did say you had something else planned in combination with this. If that something does come to fruition, please write to me as quickly as possible, so we can work everything into one carefully calculated strike that should hopefully accomplish your desired result._

_Legally, you cannot suffer any repercussions from revealing this, as we previously discussed. It may be frowned upon by some of the more traditional individuals walking on these aisles, but given the atrocities you will be revealing, and their… nature, I have little doubt you will instantaneously gain back any favour you might have lost with them, and more so._

_If you are going to go down this route, please do owl me once more when additional details are available._

_Regards,  
Veronica Tate_

“Good news?” Blaise asked, looking completely indifferent as he queried. Harry knew Blaise well enough by now to know that looking indifferent was often the most obvious indicator that he was profoundly interested in the exact thing he was faking disinterest in.

“Hard to say,” Harry answered carefully. “It’s the news I was hoping for, but that doesn’t mean everything will work out.”

“One of those operations, is it?”

“Who said anything about an operation?”

“Harry, my dear chap, I know you too well. If you’re this invested in mysterious owls from people who are probably far more important than you’re letting on, you have something planned. Something beautiful, more than likely.”

“If it goes well, it will be beautiful to me. I’m not sure how others will feel about it, but I can’t say I care much one way or the other.”

Blaise’s lips twitched. “Exactly the right attitude, my friend. As long as your plans work out, their opinions hardly matter.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Whether it’ll work out or not, I have no idea. I hope so, though. I just need certain… parties to come through with what they’ve promised.” 

As he said this, he glanced down the table to where a regal-looking girl sat with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, doing a stellar job of looking as if she cared nothing for anything in the world around her.

Harry met her eyes and she gave one, subtle nod.

The implications of which were obvious.

She had the information he was looking for.

Though as he would find out minutes later when a crumpled bit of parchment was slipped into his hand, the details were a bit… undecided.

_Harry,  
I’ve got a lead on the Heir of Slytherin. _

_A memory, actually._

_My great-uncle was a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors the same year the Chamber of Secrets was last opened. Apparently, he sat in on the meeting of the supposed heir getting expelled. The memory has been passed down through my family since then. My mother seems willing to let you in on it — since you are technically family._

_The issue is actually getting you to see the memory._

_That requires a pensieve. My family has one, but the trouble will be getting you out to see it. With the lockdown, I’m not sure if the heirs and heiresses of Ancient and Most Noble Houses still legally have rights to leave the castle. Dumbledore would definitely try and stop you, but we just need to work out whether or not he would actually have the right to stop you._

_Once that’s worked out, assuming it goes well of course, you’ll be allowed a brief trip to my family’s home to see the memory._

_After that, we should have a much better chance of taking down this Heir of Slytherin._

_Regards,  
Ares_

Harry still felt an odd twinge of distrust in regards to Ares Black, despite the fact the two of them had spent a great deal of time together in the past number of weeks — ever since Ares had cornered him on his way out of the common room. 

Her motives had been sound.

According to Ares, she was no pureblood supremacist, but she along with the rest of her family, was very much a traditionalist. This Heir of Slytherin attacking Hogwarts students was going to negatively impact the perception of traditionalists all around the country.

Oh, and the Heir had attacked the heiress to a Founding Twelve family.

In pureblood terms, that might as well have been high treason.

Still, something odd lurked at the corners of Harry’s mind.

Something that warned him of the dangers associated with Ares Black.

Something that he hoped would be banished after he saw this memory.

A memory that would hopefully enable him to find and take revenge on the Heir of Slytherin.

_**February 17, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:24 PM** _

Grace shivered as Charlotte withdrew from her mind.

She could have blocked her, but it wouldn’t have been good practice. 

For whatever reason, Charlotte was fixated on gaining proficiency in the implantation of emotions, impressions, and images. This process was done through the use of rather high-level Legilimency. 

Forming the connection wasn’t the problem, which was why initially defending really wouldn’t have been the best way for Grace to help her younger sister learn. Charlotte needed to gain an intuitive feeling of exactly how it was done, as well as the necessary mental memory to make that desire a reality. It had taken some time to get the hang of, but now that Charlotte had a handle on the basic concept, the practice had gone splendidly and she had progressed at a rapid rate.

Grace was happy for her little sister.

This was a massive achievement for any Legilimens, and doing it at all was extremely difficult. Doing it at eleven… Grace wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she learned Charlotte was the youngest person ever to achieve it at all.

Yet despite all of that, Grace still had no idea what about the technique interested Charlotte so much. She hoped it was worth it, because having foreign things planted in one’s thoughts was not at all comfortable, and she had a rather ominous feeling about what exactly Charlotte might use it for in the future.

_**February 19, 1993  
Merrymount - Family Support and Crisis Centre  
7:32 PM** _

Dudley Dursley had gone through a rather horrid number of months.

He was an absolute wreck and had hardly slept since he awoke Christmas morning to the morbidly ironic sight of his mother, lying motionless upon her bed. His aunt had fled, and she was suspected by the authorities as the murderer. Marge was found later that day. Just like the woman she had apparently murdered, she had been found dead.

Losing his mother, father and aunt within the span of less than one-hundred hours had been a lot to take in. Especially for Dudley Dursley, who had grown up spoiled rotten and largely sheltered from the horrors of the world by the seemingly impenetrable bubble of protection his mother had done her utmost best to raise him in. 

If you would have asked Dudley if he were spoiled two months ago, he would have become furious at such an outlandish insinuation. Now, eight-or-so weeks later, he was finally realizing exactly how fortunate he’d been for much of his life.

And worse, how unfortunate his cousin had been. 

Granted, Dudley would kill to be a wizard right about now, even if magic still scared the living daylights out of him. Maybe then, he could bring his family back. That had been how it had worked in all of those video games and cartoons, at least. Dark sorcerers raising zombies from the dead.

Dudley frowned at that. He didn’t want zombies. He wanted his parents back. He wondered whether or not doing such a thing was possible with the freakish force of nature that his cousin seemed to have at his disposal. 

Thoughts of his cousin were depressing now.

Just about everything about Dudley Dursley’s life was depressing, nowadays.

The police officers had lightly questioned him after the events of Christmas Eve. When they had quickly concluded he had nothing to do with the apparent strangulation of Petunia, he had been shipped off to an orphanage — one that was apparently best-suited for his current needs.

Merrymount - Family Support and Crisis Centre.

The orphanage wasn’t horrible.

Dudley couldn’t truly complain that he’d been treated poorly, or that he’d been underfed, or anything of the like. None of that had lessened the impact of his sudden shift of reality. He had gone from the pampered son of a well-off family who spoiled him rotten, to just another kid in a mildly underfunded orphanage. They had everything they needed and the building was in good shape. None of this was a problem. In truth, there really weren't any groundbreaking problems.

Dudley just desperately missed the life he’d become accustomed to.

He missed the endless amounts of time spent in front of the television. He missed the vast array of toys that were constantly at his disposal. He missed the practically nonexistent set of rules that had been lackadaisically enforced upon him. He yearned for the small mountain of gifts placed lovingly under the large Christmas tree that had dominated much of his family’s living room the last time he’d seen it.

But more than anything, he missed his parents.

Dudley was a very materialistically driven person.

He wasn’t the sharpest boy around, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not figure that out. He was well aware of it, he just didn’t particularly care one way or the other. 

Or at least, he hadn’t until now.

Now that he was bunking with another, older boy and sleeping on a battered, old mattress. Now that his meal plan left his stomach growling at most hours of the day — as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Now that he wasn’t so much the leader of his gang of friends and followers as much as he was the new, intimidating kid that everybody avoided at all costs.

He hated it.

For the first time in his life, he even sympathized with his cousin.

He had never done that before because, in all honesty, he’d never really thought much about it.

His parents — his father in particular — had always preached just how freakish and horrid Harry really was. When a message was drilled bluntly into your mind from the age of about two-years-old, that message tended to take; logic be damned. Especially when those drilling it fiercely into your mind were the two people you looked up to and admired more than anyone else in the world.

Now, he had some perspective.

He’d thought a lot about Harry over the past two-or-so months. Truly thought about him for the first time; with no trace of his parents’ rhetoric to stand in the way of his ability to see the truth clearly.

It was a terrifying sight.

For the first time, he truly saw how much his cousin had suffered. Both at the hands of his parents, as well as his suffering as a direct result of his — Dudley’s — own actions. 

He saw that the way he was being treated now — which was slowly but surely stripping him of everything he had ever known — was exactly how his cousin had been treated since he had arrived on their doorstep all those years ago.

Except not quite.

The way his cousin had been treated was even worse, and that thought made him shudder.

Just as his musings became particularly dark, there came a knock on the door. He was alone in his shared bedroom at the moment. His roommate — a tall, lanky boy named Charlie — was out playing with friends in the snow.

Dudley wasn’t interested in joining them.

None of them wanted to play with him anyway.

The door slowly creaked open before Dudley had even provided verbal permission. One of the matrons stuck her head through the door. “You have a visitor, Dudley.”

Dudley blinked in bafflement. “I do?”

“Yes, you do. He’s… well... I’ll let him tell you.”

The matron stepped aside and back out of the way, allowing the other man to enter the room as she closed the door. He was perhaps the oddest man Dudley had ever seen, simply because he was so… discrete.

He wore a stylish grey suit and a light coloured tie, as well as dark dress pants. Aside from that, Dudley had a hard time discerning anything about him, one way or the other. 

His build was… average. 

Everything about it seemed to be exactly what Dudley thought an average person might look like. His face… his eyes just seemed to slide effortlessly over it without ever taking in a detail. It wasn’t even that he couldn’t remember it as much as his brain just couldn’t register it. Or perhaps it just couldn’t comprehend what it was seeing.

“Good afternoon, Mister Dursley.”

His voice was just like the rest of him. Dudley couldn’t describe it; it just sort of rolled over him. Despite its oddities, it did snap him out of his dumbstruck stupor. “Uh… hello?”

The man smiled. “I’ve heard you’ve been through a very long few months, Mister Dursley.”

Dudley’s face scrunched up. “I don’t need somebody to talk to about it.”

“Of course not,” the odd man said patiently. “That’s not what I’m here for, so there’s no need to worry about that. I’m not sure that would be my area of expertise. I wish it was though. Much more pleasant business, that. I wasn’t particularly happy when I was called to oversee this job, but sacrifices must be made, I suppose.”

“Who are you?” Dudley asked bluntly.

The man’s lips twitched. “For the sake of this meeting, Mister Dursley, my name is Mundane.”

Dudley’s face contorted, as if he were thinking very hard. He didn’t know what mundane meant, but it didn’t exactly seem like a name. More like some complicated word he hadn’t yet learned. 

“Odd name,” he commented.

The man chuckled. “Odd indeed. Not quite as odd as some of the things that have happened around you over the past number of months though, hm?”

Dudley paled. “W-w-what are you talking about?”

The man sighed. “There’s no need to be afraid, Mister Dursley. I won’t be doing you any harm. Nor will my partner. He’s… seeing to other things, at the moment.”

“Are you… one of them?”

“Them?”

“The… the… freaks who can cast magic!”

The man frowned. “A bit crude, but yes, I can cast magic.”

“What do you want? Did you k-kill them? Are you here to kill me too?”

“Mister Dursley, please calm down. I’ve already told you; we’re not here to do you any harm. If anything, we’re here to keep you safe.” He frowned deeply. “You and some very important secrets.”

“W-what are you going to do?”

“That depends on you, Mister Dursley. For now, we’re going to do the bare minimum. Usually, this would be very simple. We would wipe your memory of anything involving magic and be done with the whole thing.” Dudley’s skin lost even more colouration — if such a thing was even possible. 

“That won’t work with you,” the man continued. 

Dudley opened his mouth to ask why it wouldn’t work, but decided about halfway through the motion he didn’t really want to know. Just the idea of having his memories erased made him feel ill. 

“Your cousin is a person of interest,” the man said anyway, as if reading his thoughts. “Not just for us, but others. Memory wipes aren’t perfect, Mister Dursley. They can be overcome, and we suspect certain individuals would overcome them if they felt the need. This would be a problem because the thing with memory charms is that if you’re good enough to detect them, it’s not that hard to actually do it. If… certain individuals found out you were under one, they would become dangerously curious.”

“So w-w-what are you g-going to do?”

“We are going to store your more directly traumatic memories away with the use of some relatively unknown magic. You will be keeping all of your memories of magic that aren’t directly related to the death of your parents. If we locked all of those away, it would give those same individuals reasons to be suspicious, just like the memory wipe.” He paused. “And anything involving this meeting, of course.

“Now, the other tricky thing here is that we can’t well take all of your memories about magic — for the reason I just said. I would be very surprised if somebody didn’t come poking around at some point. If they suddenly noticed ten years of missing memories, that would be a problem. Erasing that many memories is also never a clean job. The more you take from a person, the less of a person they are at all. 

“By the time my colleague arrives, we will have eyes all over this building. Having been let in on the secrets of the magical world, it is now your responsibility to our government to maintain the International Statute of Secrecy. That is what keeps all wizards separate from all muggles. It’s a worldwide bill that forces wizards to hide their existence from muggles. We still don’t know how the initial worldwide memory wipe was done.

“Anyway, it is now your responsibility to maintain this, just as it is ours. This is the one thing we will be leaving you with from today’s meeting. An undeniable, unexplained obligation to maintain this statute. If you for some reason choose to fight and overcome this compulsion, we will have eyes all around you. If you speak of it, we will know.”

The lock on the door clicked and it creaked open right on cue, as if the finishing of this man’s statement had prompted it to open. Dudley, shocked into complete silence and feeling completely numb with terror, might have thought that exact thing had happened, since they had magic, but he was in no state to think such coherent thoughts.

The man who stepped into the room next had the same odd effect as Mundane. Dudley couldn’t make out a single detail about them aside from the fact that they were male. Even then, Dudley could be mistaken, seeing as they were clearly using magic. 

“Ah, yes, Mister Dursley, this is the colleague I told you about. Mister Dursley, meet MI11.” Dudley just looked even more confused now — that was an even odder name than Mundane. It sounded as if he were some James Bond wannabe. 

“Now, Mister Dursley,” Mundane continued, “here is how this will work.” The other man, MI11, reached a hand to the pocket of his robes and withdrew a vial of completely colourless liquid. “MI11 is going to use magic to isolate the memories we discussed. When this is done, I will administer this potion, which will lock away all pre-isolated memories. It is completely undetectable and is a department secret. Do you understand?”

“I… I don’t want to! Please, don’t—”

Mundane sighed sadly, a genuinely regretful expression plastered onto his discrete mask. “I’m truly sorry, Mister Dursley, but I’m afraid this isn’t an option.”

MI11 had slipped a long, dark piece of wood from his sleeve before Dudley could protest any further, and he went stiff with fear when it aimed directly at his forehead.

“Legilimens!”

_**February 20, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons   
9:34 PM** _

Saturdays were the days Charlotte spent helping Harry learn Legilimency, while Harry taught her combat magic on Tuesdays. Largely, this was because Harry had his own combat training on Saturdays, which would take place in several hours with his older set of friends.

He presently found himself exhausted.

Charlotte was a very good teacher, just like Grace. 

Legilimency was more complicated, in many ways. There were so many variables, all of which, if possible, you were aiming to control and manipulate to your advantage.

Charlotte had concluded rather early in their practice that Harry was indeed a Natural Legilimens. Though, he had a much lesser affinity for Legilimency than her. His progression was apparently stellar, but it was hard to judge with Natural Legilimentes. They sort of just got to skip steps. 

For one thing, using wandless Legilimency wasn’t supposed to be possible until one reached stage four of the art. The thing was, Harry could already sort of do that. If somebody had no Occlumency defences to speak of, he could glean their basic surface thoughts through eye contact alone. One might think this automatically meant Harry was a level four Legilimens, but that wasn’t true either.

He was definitely beyond the first level.

By the end of stage one, it was expected that a Legilimens would be able to form a connection with another person’s mind and see the barest trace of surface thoughts and emotions.

Harry was well beyond this.

He had been for many years, which was exactly how he and Charlotte had confirmed their theory in regards to Natural Legilimency being an innate ability of his.

Stage two, on the other hand, was more about control as opposed to forming the connection. By the end of stage two, one would be capable of manipulating unguarded minds in such a way that you could actually see their memories. This was assuming they had no Occlumency to speak of and the ability — at this stage — would be very rudimentary, but it would exist.

Level three was an expansion of level two. It was the level where a Legilimens gained the admirable ability to sift through unguarded thoughts, and it was also the level in which they could consistently be counted upon to overpower rudimentary Occlumency defences.

After that, it got more… vague.

Level four, in many ways, was a repeat of level one, just wandlessly, while also honing the skills of mental manipulation. Levels five through seven… Harry honestly wasn’t sure. He hadn’t looked that far ahead. He suspected Charlotte was somewhere around stage five, though he’d never asked, and she had never offered up the information.

This system didn’t work for Natural Legilimentes.

To use Harry as an example, he was capable of very basic wandless Legilimency, but he could only glean very active surface thoughts. Anybody with an ounce of competency in Occlumency would never even notice his failed attempt to breach their thoughts unless they were extremely in tune with their mind, since the attack would be so weak by comparison. Yet despite having an ability that was said to be more advanced, Harry was currently working through the level two material. Manipulating one’s mind into showing him specific images and memories was still beyond him, even if he was making tremendous progress.

He wasn’t sure which he preferred the aftereffects of — Occlumency or Legilimency. Both usually left him with headaches, but where Occlumency usually left him mentally exhausted; Legilimency usually left him in a rather sluggish state of mind. He just didn’t feel as sharp. Oftentimes, he would feel something akin to being disoriented for hours. Charlotte told him this was natural for beginners. It even happened to her at times, when she tried something particularly advanced or spent an abnormally large amount of time in the thoughts of another.

Harry was so disoriented after their lesson that he almost didn’t catch Charlotte’s hollow, clinical warning. 

“I’m doing it soon.”

He shook his head slowly, as if to shake a dusting of cobwebs from his brain before he slowly began to comprehend what she’d just said. “Doing what soon?”

“You know, the plan.”

He didn’t know the plan at all, but he did at least know what she was talking about now.

Her strike on Mulciber and Jugson was drawing near.

It had been ages since their attack on Charlotte, but she’d been rather distracted by the fiasco at the Hogwarts Duelling Club’s one and only meeting, the holidays, and then, of course, Daphne’s rather tragic disappearance.

Just the thought of it made Harry’s gut clench.

His solicitor had been in a bit of a battle regarding the legality of him leaving the castle. While it was technically on lockdown, the wording put forth by the Wizengamot technically stated that was only true after curfew, so students could attend classes during the day. The problem with this wording was that, in Tate’s well-educated opinion, it left loopholes. Loopholes that they were trying to exploit. According to her last letter, she hoped to have the issue resolved by the end of the week. Though she also warned that after they abused this loophole, there was a good chance the Wizengamot was going to make sure there was no chance of them doing so a second time.

That was fine by Harry.

He would just make his one and only absence from the castle in the near future count.

He had no plans of leaving again anyway. Not that such things as plans had ever stopped fate from toying with him before. He still fondly remembered the early portion of the year, when he’d still been under the naively false illusion that he would be able to avoid the chaos this year. All he wanted was a nice, quiet year. 

Then this Heir of Slytherin bastard had to go and make things personal, and his cold war had begun.

“And you think it will work?” Charlotte nodded. “You won’t tell me if I ask, will you?” She shook her head. “Will you tell me after it’s over?” She hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Just tell me it’s well thought out, and that whatever it is, it will end it? Nothing that might give Mulciber or Jugson a chance to fire back at you.”

“It will end it,” Charlotte said in a rather firm tone of voice. “I doubt they’re going to want anything to do with me after this.”

Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on Charlotte for both the next few days, and after whatever revenge she had planned was enacted, whether it worked or not.

As if he needed anything else to occupy his time.

_**February 22, 1993  
The Slytherin Common Room  
9:03 PM** _

Harry wasn’t sure what he thought of déjà vu. 

There were a countless number of theories pertaining to it all around the globe. From what he could tell, the magical world didn’t seem to have any better explanation for it than the muggle world.

Well, not for true déjà vu, at least.

He knew exactly where this feeling came from, as he had been in a remarkably similar situation the night Mulciber and Jugson had made their attempt to butcher Charlotte with the cursed dagger — which he’d now sold to Bellatrix Black — and drug her with the mysterious potion, which he still had locked away in his Parseltongue-protected trunk.

Just like that night, he was thoroughly thrashing Blaise in a game of chess a few minutes after Charlotte had left the common room.

The only key difference was that this time, he could see that both Mulciber and Jugson were present, which was only natural considering the adjusted curfew had come into effect some time ago.

They were both in the common room, this time.

At least until Harry saw Mulciber glance from side to side several times before slinking predatorily out of the common room’s entrance.

Harry’s heart rate quickened as his eyes narrowed. Either Charlotte had been set up again, which Harry highly doubted, or this was part of her plan. 

How she’d managed to lure Mulciber out after curfew in times like these, he had no idea.

He did know one thing though.

If something went wrong, he would be ready.

He not only owed it to Charlotte, whether she liked it or not, but he’d promised Grace.

“Checkmate,” he said quietly, moving his knight into striking distance.

Blaise scoffed. “Only a check, dimwit.”

“I would beat you in two more turns and it’ll have to do for now.”

Harry could practically see Blaise’s ears perk up. “Ah, yes. Business to attend to, I see?”

Laine looked sharply up towards Harry. He’d seen and spoken to her a lot more since the castle had been put on lockdown. Primarily because he found it more difficult to slip off, so he was actually forced to spend more time with people.

He liked Laine, though — Weasley as well.

She was still quiet at times, but certainly less than she had been months earlier and she had fire.

There were no doubts about that.

Laine tilted her head slightly towards the door, obviously asking a silent question.

Are you going after them?

Obviously, he hadn’t been the only one who had noticed the similarity to months earlier.

Minutely, he nodded, right before taking a deep breath and fading straight out of existence, making his way out of the common room while completely invisible.

_**Twenty minutes later…** _

Alex Jugson had felt rather suspicious all day.

He wasn’t exactly sure why.

He hadn’t had any particular reason to feel this way, it was just a deep-rooted intuition that he couldn’t shake.

His mounting sense of paranoia hadn’t been sated when his best friend, Derrick Mulciber, had left their common room about twenty minutes ago. What made him even more nervous was that Weitts wasn’t in the common room either.

Neither he nor Mulciber had forgotten the incident back in November when the two of them — with the help of an interested third party — had launched a strike against Weitts that was supposed to put the whole feud to bed. Even then, Alex had felt as though Mulciber and their aide had escalated things a bit far. He didn’t much like Weitts either, but doing something so drastic was a major risk. Especially when their target was a member of House Weitts; a family that was equally as dangerous as they were mysterious.

Both he and Mulciber knew that Charlotte Weitts hadn’t forgotten the incident. Nor had Harry Potter, who concerned Jugson far more than Charlotte. After watching him completely and effortlessly obliterate Draco the night of Samhain, Potter rose rather rapidly on his list of people not to fuck with under any circumstances. 

There had also been the prospect of him being the Heir of Slytherin. But since Greengrass had vanished back in January, most of the school seemed to have removed Potter’s name from their list of prospects. Many of them were fixated on his more well-known twin, Charlus, but Jugson didn’t think that to be at all likely. He didn’t particularly think Slytherin Potter to be responsible either, but he thought him a whole lot more likely than the Boy-Who-Lived.

All of this was to say that Harry Potter was somebody who Alex Jugson thought was dangerous.

Which was why when he saw the second-year Slytherin slip out of the common room just minutes after his best friend left, he felt his pulse quicken as his danger senses reached new levels of tingling.

That was when Alex Jugson was met with a split-second decision.

Leave the common room and go looking for Mulciber, hopefully in time to warn him of what screamed of an ambush?

Or stay in the safety of the common room and let events unfold?

The latter was definitely the more Slytherin answer. 

It was the answer that he would have taken on most days.

In fact, it was the answer he would have taken that day, had he not felt an unnatural level of concern for his best friend.

A concern that had been swelling and swelling ever since earlier that day, when he’d felt and returned the bluish-silver eyed stare that had practically been boring a hole into him whilst he did his prep.

_**Ten minutes later…** _

For a time, Alex Jugson thought he might have actually been overthinking things. He checked classroom after classroom, but he never found Mulciber or Weitts.

He had been considering just returning to the common room, at that point. After all, he would be in serious trouble if he were to be caught out after the strictly-enforced curfew by one of the Aurors or professors strolling through the halls.

But he didn’t return to the common room.

That same sense of paranoia that felt worryingly unlike him was persisting. He found himself still on the search until finally, it happened.

He instinctively knew he’d come to the right door before he even opened it.

It was the same classroom he and Mulciber had dragged Weitts into back in November. He should have known it would be this one. Poetic justice practically demanded it. Slipping his wand into his hand and readying it, Jugson pushed the door open… and immediately conjured a shield to block the number of spells that sailed towards him.

His shield crumbled almost immediately, forcing him to dive to the side. The power of Weitts’s spells was impressive. His shield should have certainly lasted much longer than it had. He scrambled back to his feet and tried valiantly to return fire, but the skirmish was over in seconds, and he found himself bound and wandless by its conclusion. He knew a few nasty curses, but he had never been a duellist. Weitts was probably the best in their year, aside from maybe Ares Black. Either way, Jugson should have realized he had a chance, but he’d seen Mulciber’s motionless form, and he couldn’t help but feel a protective urge to lash out.

Perhaps he might have rethought things if he knew that, in addition to her own natural talent, Weitts had been practicing combat magic with Harry Potter for the past month and a half or so.

Before he knew it, Weitts had crouched over him, and her cool fingers had slipped under his chin, tilting his eyes up to meet hers. “I’ll make this a bit easier on you,” she hissed with heat in her voice. “You may be nothing but a follower, but I am still making damn sure this is the final strike.” Her wand was pressed to his temple before he could do so much as move, and his mind froze with horror as those signature eyes found him.

“Legilimens!”

Jugson had never learned Occlumency, but he suddenly wished he had.

He knew what that spell did, even if he didn’t know a way around it. Most purebloods didn’t learn the art until they were at least thirteen or fourteen. Many never learned it at all, unless they were the heir or heiress of an important family. Or unless their family was particularly paranoid. Teaching Occlumency too young could be disastrous if you didn’t very much trust the person you were teaching to use the art responsibly. It was a great power, but one that could have disastrous consequences for the user if it were abused or mishandled. That mixed with the struggles of a developing mind turned most adults away from teaching their children at a young age, but Alex suddenly wished nothing more than knowing the mental defence.

Charlotte ripped effortlessly into his thoughts and he suddenly wanted to scream as pure and utter terror erupted in every corner of his mind. His worst fears surfaced, and the worst memories of his life started flashing past his eyes. He thought he really screamed that time, but couldn’t be sure. He shouldn’t have been able to but it sort of felt as though he’d screamed, and he certainly wanted to… oh, how he wanted to.

He also didn’t feel his bowels fail as a putrid stench filled the room.

During a span of about five minutes — which, to Jugson, felt like barely more than a few seconds — Charlotte had made two things very clear to him. Things that had been little more than foreign concepts seconds earlier, but things that were now as deeply-rooted as his basic, human instincts.

All of his worst fears had come to life in the past number of minutes, and he had a new one.

Charlotte Weitts.

Charlotte let out a deep exhale when she exited the room, finally releasing the hold she’d had on her nose to block out the horrid stench emanating from both boys.

This had been the final strike.

It was what Harry had told her all that time ago that had stuck.

It had to be decisive and on at least the same level as what they’d tried to do to her. At the same time, it had to leave no room for a counter-attack.

Charlotte had taken that to heart, quite literally constructing her carefully calculated strike around the idea of providing no avenue for return-fire.

After weeks of exhaustive practice with Grace, she had been confident enough to put her plan into motion.

It helped that she knew from passive intrusions that neither Mulciber nor Jugson knew any Occlumency. It practically made them sitting ducks, and it was a blatant weakness that Charlotte had immediately known could be exploited.

For the past week, she had been subtly pushing feelings of suspicion into Mulciber’s mind every time their eyes met. She wasn’t nearly as skillful in the practice without a wand as she was with one, but after numerous, persistent pushes, the message seemed to have sunk in.

Specifically, she had made Mulciber very suspicious of her, and she had been very careful to make sure he saw her exit the common room after curfew.

She’d known he would follow her, and she was waiting to ambush him.

He was a decent duellist, but nothing spectacular. After constantly getting outclassed by Harry, duelling Mulciber was easy. Compared to her slightly older friend, Mulciber practically felt as if he were moving in slow motion.

Once he’d fallen, wandless and bound, she had executed the core of her plan.

Breaching his mind and finding out what he feared the most, then pulling up any memories she could find for those fears, before forcing them to play over and over again while amplifying the paranoia through Legilimency. The final touch was inserting a healthy amount of fear for herself and, above all else, the notion that a counter-strike would be a very bad idea.

She had raised suspicion in Jugson’s mind, too, but less so than Mulciber. A different kind of suspicion, at least. A protective kind of suspicion that lent itself well to entering a dangerous situation for one who you called a friend. 

When he had entered the room some time later, she had simply repeated the process, though she had been very slightly less cruel. He was a follower, and Charlotte doubted he’d had any input on the prior events. That didn’t mean she held back, either. She just hadn’t overextended herself in quite the same way she had when it had come to Mulciber.

She was sure she had succeeded, though if either boy had known a shred of Occlumency, she probably wouldn’t have.

She presently found herself leaning against the wall, breathing a bit heavily. 

That trick had been more taxing than she had expected, and she felt so light at the feeling of freedom that had washed over her once revenge had been fulfilled that her limbs almost felt numb.

“We shouldn’t be out in the open like this. Curfew is enforced pretty harshly, these days.”

Charlotte would have jumped a foot into the air had she felt strong enough to do so, or if she hadn’t recognized the voice. 

As it was, she let herself be guided into a nearby classroom by the boy who she was both teaching and learning from.

“If you helped me in any way,” was the first thing she said.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t, I promise. I’ll swear an oath if you’d like. This one seems black and white enough for it to work well.”

Charlotte shook her head. She could tell he was being honest. 

Well, he was actually being partially honest, but she could just tell he wasn’t lying.

After all, he had nudged her in the right direction back in December when her plan had been far more shallow.

He had effectively led her to decide upon a plan he would approve of, she just didn’t realize that.

“No, it’s okay. I believe you.”

“Naturally,” he said with some amusement. “Care to tell me what you actually did?”

Charlotte hesitantly explained all she had done both to prepare and execute the plan. She was nervous how he would take it. She couldn’t explain why. It had worked, so his opinion after the fact shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it did.

To her utter relief, he graced her with a genuine smile when she had concluded.

“Well,” he’d said, “that accomplished what it needed to, so I’m glad you can learn as well as you can teach.” He’d smirked at that. “Lucky you can do the latter, too, because you are definitely teaching me that when I’m ready.”

_**February 28, 1993  
The Headquarters of the Daily Prophet  
1:30 PM** _

“Ah, Heir Potter. I’ve been expecting you. Lucius did say you would be punctual, after all. Please do come in! An honour to meet you at last.”

Harry graced Rita Skeeter with a well-practiced smile. He couldn’t say he was particularly thrilled to meet her, but she could potentially be of great use. She could better fill this job than anyone in the country. Harry didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, but she seemed all too willing to work with him, at least for now. Best to take full advantage of that luxury while it was still at his disposal.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Skeeter.”

“Oh, please, call me Rita.” Skeeter was practically simpering. Harry hadn’t told Lucius exactly what news he wanted to break to Skeeter. Just that it would put both James Potter and Albus Dumbledore in exceptionally hot water.

He felt a nearly unnoticeable pang of guilt for the first, but savage pleasure at putting a dent in the facade of the second. James had actually treated him rather well this year. He’d even saved him from potential expulsion. At the very least, that search would have turned up a number of very unsavoury items Harry was more than happy not to get caught with. James really had been decent over the past few months; he’d even written Harry a number of times. They talked about small, mundane things in those bits of correspondence. 

No matter how hard he tried though, Harry doubted James could ever make up for his past mistakes now.

They were just too impactful, and they numbered far too high.

Sending Harry to the Dursleys and completely abandoning him had been horrid. 

For some reason, Harry had still felt compelled to give his father a second chance.

A second chance that he had totally botched by breaking the most important promise he’d ever made to Harry. It also just so happened to be the only promise he’d ever made to Harry. If anything, Harry just thought that made it even worse.

Sending him back to the Dursleys had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

He doubted he would ever forgive his father, and he sure as hell hadn’t done so yet. 

And Dumbledore… he could not care any less what happened to Dumbledore, so long as it was both unpleasant and unnecessarily drawn out.

It didn’t seem to matter what Harry had told Lucius. He must have correctly assumed it was something particularly juicy, for Skeeter was salivating more than a dog staring down a bone.

“Rita, then. Call me Harry, if you’d like.” It wasn’t something Harry was completely comfortable with, but alas, some sacrifices did have to be made.

Rita smiled widely. “Of course, Harry. Shall we get straight to business then?” Harry nodded solemnly and Rita unzipped a horridly garish handbag, pulling from it several pieces of parchment and a rather distinct-looking quill. 

Definitely not a Quick Quotes Quill, as Tate had been very adamant Skeeter would sign papers banning their use before she spoke with Harry at all.

“Now, Harry,” Rita said in a perfectly modulated voice that conveyed sympathy and understanding. “I heard from Lucius that you might have some… hard truths to tell me today?”

Harry took a deep, centring breath, and the interview began.

_**That night, at Black Manor…** _

The portkey that took Harry to Black Manor deposited him directly in the entrance hall, much like Lucius Malfoy’s had done during Yuletide break.

He was not only greeted by a house elf — who promptly relieved him of his travelling cloak — but also by the lady of the house. 

“La… Bellatrix.” 

It was odd to be expected to speak so familiarly with somebody in her position. Especially when the two of them barely knew each other.

Her lips twitched. “It’s nice to see you as well, cousin. I wish we could speak more, but I have to be at a gathering to discuss the fallout from today’s Wizengamot meeting. I trust you can see yourself out? The main floo has one-way access, so just pop over to the Three Broomsticks when you leave.”

“It’s no trouble,” Harry said smoothly as the two of them began to walk down a particularly dark corridor. Come to think of it, the manor in general had a very grim, ominous feel to it. “Anything interesting come up at today’s Wizengamot meeting?”

“A tidbit or two,” Bellatrix said amusedly, her voice slightly sing-song. “You did come up, so that was interesting.”

“They’re going to patch the loophole I used to leave the castle?”

“They are. The rights of heirs and heiresses to leave Hogwarts will soon be repealed during times of official lockdown of the castle. The vote will happen next Sunday, but I doubt the bill will face much opposition.”

Harry nodded. “Anything else?”

“There have been proposals to repeal the section of the Hogwarts Charter that bans Aurors or other occupying forces from entering the castle. Modifying it, at the very least.”

The two of them had come to a large sitting room, and the pensieve was laid out on a mahogany table. 

“Have you ever used a pensieve?” Bellatrix asked. Harry shook his head. “It’s simple. Just touch the liquid and it will pull you into a third-person viewing of the memory. The right memory is already primed and waiting.” She had an odd gleam in her eye as she spoke, but Harry ignored it as he thanked her, watching the lady of House Black leave before he made his way to the pensieve and entered into the memory.

The sensation was just as Ares had told him.

He landed in the familiar setting of the Headmaster’s office, though it looked very different to how he remembered it.

Dumbledore was present, but he looked far younger, and Harry doubted this was his office at the time the memory took place. His hair and beard were still auburn, not the silver it would later become. His face was also less lined, and he just generally looked more exuberant.

Contrary to Dumbledore, the man who did sit behind the office’s main desk looked ancient and weathered. He looked even older than present-day Dumbledore did, and the forlorn expression on his face just made him look somehow older.

There were six others in the room.

Three of them appeared to be Ministry officials. That made sense if they were dealing with the Heir of Slytherin at the time, especially knowing via the _Daily Prophet’s_ summary of the Wizengamot meeting of January the fourteenth that the highest number of officials that could be sent to Hogwarts was three. 

Also in the room was a well-dressed man with perfectly controlled hair, high, regal-looking cheekbones and dark, grey eyes.

This was obviously Ares’s great uncle, Phineas Black. 

The most recent one, that was. Not the notorious Hogwarts Headmaster from the late nineteenth century. 

The two other occupants of the room interested Harry more than anyone.

The first was instantly recognizable.

He looked to only be about thirteen or fourteen, but Rubeus Hagrid couldn’t exactly blend into a crowd, even at that age. He was already nearly seven feet tall and much bulkier than any grown man had the right to be.

Yet it was the girl that drew Harry’s attention and curiosity more than even Hagrid, who seemed remarkably out of place in this room.

She appeared to be several years older than Harry. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. An upper year, surely. The first things to strike Harry were her height and posture. She was unnaturally tall as is, and the way she stood straight with perfect, superior-looking posture made her seem even taller. It was her who Harry landed closest to, and the height difference between the two of them would have been quite amusing to an onlooker, despite the obvious discrepancy in age. She had to be at least six-feet tall, and Harry thought her a couple inches more than that. Unnatural for a woman, but not freakishly so. It went naturally with her posture, and Harry oddly couldn’t picture her any other way. The two factors blended together perfectly, and they only added to the quiet air of power she seemed to exude.

Adding to the royal image was her pale, perfect skin, soft, regal features and dark, intense eyes.

She wore Slytherin robes, and Harry immediately spotted the prefect’s badge shining proudly upon them.

What happened next baffled Harry.

“I’m sorry, Rubeus,” the old man behind the desk said heavily. Referring to his memory of the past headmasters, Harry realized this must be Armando Dippet. According to _Hogwarts, A History,_ the man had been the Headmaster who had preceded Dumbledore. He had apparently lived more than three-hundred years.

“I didn’t!” Hagrid moaned. “I’d never!”

“Are you saying one of my prefects is lying, boy?” Dippet’s voice was suddenly sharp, and Hagrid looked exactly as if that was what he’d meant to say.

“I would never!” Hagrid said again, and Dippet’s eyes suddenly turned to the tall Slytherin girl wearing the prefect’s badge.

She just shrugged helplessly. “I only know what I saw, sir. I could be wrong; I’m not perfect. I just thought it would be irresponsible of me not to bring what I spotted to your attention.”

“You did well, Miss Riddle.” Harry’s jaw fell open when Dippet addressed the girl, and his eyes were now drinking in every inch of her form.

This was Emily Riddle; it had to be. 

The timeline checked out perfectly. She’d attended Hogwarts at the time the chamber had been opened. This was a Slytherin prefect with her surname. It could be nobody else.

But that meant…

Oh… _FUCK!_

Emily Riddle was a _Parselmouth._

She had been at Hogwarts at the same time that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and Harry frankly doubted Hagrid was capable of such things as he watched the proceedings unfold.

Which meant one of two things.

Harry’s secret tutor had either made a royal mistake and there was either another Parselmouth at Hogwarts at that time, or one really didn’t need the ability to enter the Chamber of Secrets, which Harry doubted.

Or, his mysterious penpal had been the Heir of Slytherin and had gotten away with it.

He instinctively knew the latter was true.

She was a genius. He knew that very well from first-hand experience. He had no doubts at all she could have gotten away with it, especially considering she seemed to have Dippet eating desperately out of the palm of her hand.

This was _bad._

This was _really bad._

_**March 7, 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:25 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_The Hidden Horrors of the Hogwarts Headmaster and the Blatant Abuses of Power He Doesn’t Want You To Know About!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

_A number of days ago, I had the pleasure to sit down and interview a remarkable young man. A man who has achieved much in his young life. Somebody who has succeeded in spite of the odds never seeming to be in his favour. This conversation shed some rather disturbing light on two rather esteemed members of our society, but it took me a few days to comprehend exactly what I’d heard._

_But now, we are here._

_On the final day of February, I sat down with Harry Potter. You might recognize the surname, after all, it is one of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses that help govern our nation. If you are less politically-inclined, you might also recognize it as the surname of one Charlus Potter, otherwise known as the Boy-Who-Lived. This interview was one I have been wanting to conduct for some time. There are, after all, numerous questions surrounding Harry Potter._

_Like, for instance, why many in our world never heard his name until he was eleven-years-old — when he turned up at Hogwarts and shattered the Potter tradition by joining the ranks of Slytherin House._

_The answer to this question was rather shocking._

_“It’s really quite confusing,” Harry told me, looking particularly downcast at the choice of topic. “I never remember being sent to my aunt and uncle’s. I know it was right after She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked my family. I spoke to my father about it a couple of months into my first year, and he said he couldn’t handle the pressure of raising me alongside the Boy-Who-Lived.”_

_I, for one, found that justification to be odd._

_James Potter, esteemed Senior Auror, generous philanthropist, and paragon of Gryffindor House unable to deal with the stress of raising two sons?_

_Interesting indeed._

_Yet my dear readers, the plot thickens._

_My next question, naturally, was to ask young Harry what he thought of the arrangement. The look on his face said it all, but I won’t make you take my word for it. Instead, you can take young Harry’s._

_“I don’t know why he did it, but it wasn’t a good home to grow up in. My aunt and uncle passed away pretty recently. I can honestly say that I don’t feel good about that, but when I heard the news a small part of me was relieved I’ll never have to go back.”_

_When gently prodded further, Harry told me, in bits and pieces, of some of the atrocities that were committed in that home._

_This boy, the heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House, was forced to slave away like a house elf for his muggle relatives. And if he performed tasks with anything less than house-elf-esque efficiency, he was punished very harshly._

_Physically punished, on a number of occasions._

_But there’s more._

_As if it wasn’t bad enough that the Potter Heir was raised in an abusive muggle home, it gets even worse. He told this fact to Lord Potter, who promised his son and heir vehemently he would never return._

_Until another piece entered the equation._

_“It was all going well until Headmaster Dumbledore got involved,” Harry told me carefully. “My father had promised to never send me back. He looked upset that I even thought it was a possibility. At the end of the year, I was called to Dumbledore’s office, and I was told I was returning there. I had no say in the matter._

_“I tried to argue. I tried to tell him what they’d done, but he wouldn’t listen. He said it was necessary. There are — or were, I’m not sure — powerful wards on the home that I never knew existed. He said the wards were forged straight from the power of my mother’s sacrifice, whatever that means.”_

_This was quite vague, so I decided to take the wording to several experts._

_All the Curse Breakers I asked seemed to come to the same conclusion._

_Albus Dumbledore could not possibly be speaking of anything aside from blood wards._

_As we all know, blood magic of any kind is extremely illegal. It has been for more than two centuries._

_What is also illegal, is the mishandling of an heir. The lord of a house is obligated to ensure the heir’s safety to the best of their ability, something James Potter has failed to do. And if Albus Dumbledore played a role in this, he too may be guilty as a third party — in addition to his possible tampering in highly-illegal branches of magic._

The article continued from there, but Harry had read enough.

It was exactly what he’d needed it to be, and he could feel Dumbledore’s intense stare on the back of his head.

He did not meet it.

The bastard didn’t deserve any more of his attention.

Since that day out of Hogwarts, visiting both Diagon Alley and Black Manor, Harry’s mind had been restless as it milled over a great number of things.

One of them was the possibility that Emily Riddle had been the Heir of Slytherin.

He was going down that rabbit hole once more, searching for information on the one-time Head Girl who seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.

He had also stopped writing to her.

If she had been opening the chamber in her time, Harry couldn’t trust her. 

Not when it meant that she, or at least somebody associated with her, had been responsible for the disappearance of his best friend.

He also didn’t fail to notice the obvious coincidence that Emily Riddle, his top suspect for the title of Heir of Slytherin started writing to him the summer before the Chamber of Secrets had apparently been opened once again.

That had been his primary focus over much of the past week, but another thought filled him with just as much dread.

This article.

It was a carefully calculated strike, one that would hopefully remove Dumbledore from his position of power long enough for Harry to do some proper investigating without the old man’s eyes fixed constantly upon him.

On the other hand, it meant that now, everybody who was anybody in Magical Britain knew facts about him that he’d originally planned to never share.

He hated it more than anything, but some sacrifices did, unfortunately, have to be made.

As Dumbledore might have put it — it was for the greater good.

_**March 12, 1993  
The Grounds of Hogwarts   
9:00 PM** _

Sneaking out of Hogwarts during a heavily enforced lockdown had been… surprisingly easy, to be honest.

The castle was so vast that the professors and Aurors couldn’t possibly cover everywhere at once. That mixed with his silenced shoes, stealth ring and overall proficiency in sneaking around meant that Harry made his way out to the Hogwarts gates quite easily.

Where he promptly met up with a well-dressed and extremely smug-looking Lucius Malfoy.

“Lord Malfoy.”

“Heir Potter, such a pleasure to see you.”

“You seem to be in a good mood, sir.” 

Lucius chuckled as they began to stride purposefully in the direction of Hagrid’s hut. “Never better, my dear boy. Never better.”

_**Earlier that morning, in the Great Hall…** _

_Heir Potter,  
Last night, the Hogwarts Board of Governors met and I presented the evidence you put forth to the Daily Prophet, as well as the memory you sent to me regarding Dumbledore’s mishandling of the Rubeus Hagrid situation. It has been common knowledge for years that Dumbledore acquired him his position at the school, but now we know he did so despite his involvement in this disastrous Heir of Slytherin debacle. Funnily enough, any records pertaining to that particular school year have been sealed and hidden away, so this fact could not possibly have been known until now._

_Of course, this evidence would be a bit murky in a court of law, but it suits our purposes just fine._

_The board voted unanimously to remove Dumbledore from his position of power, and I will arrive at Hogwarts tonight to inform him of the board’s decision._

_Seeing as this was all your rather splendid idea, I thought you may wish to be there to see it._

_If you would like to meet me at the front gates at nine o’clock tonight, I can assure you not only that you will be unpunished for breaking curfew, but also that you shall see your dominos fall._

_It is always rather satisfying to bear witness to, from one Slytherin to another._

_Regards,_  
Lucius Malfoy  
Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy 

_**Back in the present...** _

“Funny coincidence, that,” Harry said, fighting the shit-eating grin that was doing its best to make itself seen. “I’m doing quite well tonight, myself.”

Lucius’s lips twitched as they came to stand outside of Hagrid’s front door. “Naturally.” 

All sounds from inside the building ceased as soon as Lucius had knocked. About ten seconds later, the door swung gently open, revealing the rather stony countenance of Albus Dumbledore. 

“Good evening, Dumbledore,” Lucius said silkily. “I believe I have something you might be interested in. It is actually rather urgent business. May I come in?” 

Dumbledore nodded and Lucius stepped across the threshold. Harry made to follow, but he found the Chief Warlock impeding his path. “What are you doing out so late, Harry? Curfew has been in effect for some time now. These are not the times for shameless rule floundering, I am afraid. Please return to your common room immediately. I shall instruct Professor Snape to have a more formal word with you tomorrow.”

Harry glanced towards Lucius, asking a silent question that the man affirmatively answered with a nod. “Respectfully, Chief Warlock, you don’t have the authority to say something like that.”

The air seemed to drain from the hut when Harry said that. All were deadly still except for Hagrid, who reared as if he’d been struck. “‘ang on!” he protested. “He’s the ruddy ‘eadmaster, Potter! Whatcha mean he ain’t got no author-“

“I think you will find, Mr. Hagrid,” Lucius interjected smoothly, “that Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts no longer.” 

With a flourish, Lord Malfoy removed a long roll of parchment from his robes and laid it down on the kitchen table. 

“An official notice of dismissal from the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I think you will find that all twelve signatures have been given.”

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling. “An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” he roared.

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” Lord Malfoy drawled. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”

“Yeh can’ take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. “Take him away, an’ the muggleborns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’ next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply.

“You’re making a mistake, Malfoy.” Harry had barely noticed the other man in the room. 

It was Barty Crouch Sr. — the Minister for Magic. 

“If Dumbledore is no longer in this castle, the investigation loses a major asset. One that it frankly can’t afford to lose.”

“With respect, Minister Crouch, the investigation will have to manage. The board’s decision is unanimous, and it will not be rescinded.”

Hagrid looked as if he would argue again. Crouch did as well, for that matter.

“Enough.”

Dumbledore’s voice cut across both of them, and both men fell silent. For his part, Dumbledore himself was staring pensively into Lucius’s cold grey eyes with an expression that suggested he was completely unfazed by the events unfolding before him.

“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside.”

“No!” growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off of Lucius Malfoy’s cold grey ones.

“However,” the Chief Warlock continued, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered toward the corner. Those words were far too meaningful, and he doubted very much that Dumbledore was speaking to him. He also didn’t fail to notice the two extra teacups on the table, and he suddenly put the dots together.

Granger and Charlus were almost definitely hidden in that corner, likely under his brother’s invisibility cloak.

“Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing. “We shall all miss your — er — highly individual way of running things, Dumbledore, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any — ah — killins.”

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Crouch, fiddling with his uniform moustache, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Harry knew at once that both Charlus and Granger would be taking that cue. 

He wanted to do likewise. 

He wanted to so badly, but knew he couldn’t.

Any time he had allowed his natural curiosity to overtake him, he’d been led into traps and situations he should have never found himself in.

He had won this night already. It was best not to press his advantage.

There were other avenues he could walk down that would all lead him to the same end goal.

Unmasking the Heir of Slytherin.

A goal that was now less complex with Dumbledore out of the castle.

It would be one less set of eyes watching over him every passing moment of the day.

Now, the true hunt could begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **As you can see, the pace is picking up, and this event happened about two months earlier than it did in canon due to Harry’s intervention. It also sets up other, coming events that I can’t quite say yet.**
> 
> **Let’s just say this isn’t going to play out the way it did in the novels, even if this bit might have looked similar.**
> 
> **In other news, the next audiobook chapter is up on YouTube, as well as the first chapter of my new story. Those audio chapters will be recorded, edited, and posted at the same time with the ones on site. Support on the YouTube channel, the AoC audiobook, and the new story would mean the world to me.**
> 
> **Happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate it!**
> 
> **Stay safe and happy reading!**  
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> Ace 
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 19th, 2020. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server. The next one is available for all Discord members, and the next four are up for my Patrons.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	28. Mounting Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**March 12, 1993  
Hagrid’s Hut  
9:23 PM** _

It spoke volumes to the magnitude of the moment that the three wizards and half-giant seemed to forget all about Harry as they exited the hut. More than likely, Malfoy and Dumbledore both remembered, but simply said nothing for very different reasons. Lord Malfoy most likely was not overly bothered how Harry spent his time. He seemed to enjoy the youth’s cunning and penchant for causing beneficial chaos, so he probably felt no inclination to stop him from doing just that.

Dumbledore probably wanted to say something very much, but Harry wondered if the old man had seen his eyes dart to the corner and then to the table, where the two spare cups still sat guiltily on display — personifying every careless child caught with their hand halfway in the cookie jar. It was likely that Dumbledore didn’t want to draw attention to Harry for fear that, in retaliation, Harry might draw attention to Charlus and Granger. Without either of them truly realizing it, Harry suspected they’d come to a sort of voiceless accord. A stalemate, one could say.

Frigid winter air tore through the otherwise scorching hut as the long-time Hogwarts Headmaster was led from the room. It seemed to signify the break in normality that was the castle’s new state of being. Even through the chaos of the past two years, the one constant had been Dumbledore. The defeater of Grindelwald had served as a beacon of hope for most, even whilst he sat and did little in his ivory tower, lording over the lands he cherished but unable to do anything against the shadowy assailants who sought to cast them into ruin.

Harry knew that removing Dumbledore was exceedingly dangerous. It was the very definition of high risk, high reward play in a high-stakes game of chess.

Or perhaps Russian roulette would be more apt.

Dumbledore should have been their best weapon in apprehending the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had wanted to believe that for some time, mostly while he had tried in vain to stay out of the year’s drama. In his estimation, Dumbledore had proven himself incapable of solving the mystery. Particularly when Harry learned this wasn’t the first time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Dumbledore had not just failed once — he had failed twice.

Unfortunately, whilst Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, it was next to impossible for Harry to pursue his personal investigations. This hadn’t been a problem for most of the year, as Harry truly wanted nothing to do with any of the chaos. Though that had all changed when Daphne had vanished and the Heir of Slytherin had, wittingly or not, made things deeply personal and stoked an unquenchable fire of hatred and vengeance inside of Harry. 

In some ways, he thought with no small bit of irony, it felt much like the unearthly fire Dumbledore had conjured back in December during the one and only meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club.

Now that he was gone, things were going to get much more dangerous.

Especially if it was indeed Emily Riddle behind the events. She was a genius, after all. With Dumbledore out of the way, she was likely the most intelligent person in or operating within the castle by a wide margin. To Harry, this meant the chances were certainly high that the Heir might become more aggressive now.

This was both good and bad.

It was good because so long as they loomed hidden behind a veil of what had thus far proven to be impenetrable shadows, Harry suspected dragging them out into the ever-judging pools of light was going to be far more difficult. If they became more aggressive in their quest to achieve… whatever their end goal was, Harry was at least mildly more confident that he would be able to unmask them.

The problem with a more aggressive Heir of Slytherin was that it also meant it would be a much more dangerous Heir of Slytherin.

But it was a risk Harry had to take.

With Dumbledore out of the castle and the Heir of Slytherin more likely to step out of the shadows, he had a chance.

He would still have to avoid Gilderoy Lockhart, which was going to pose its own myriad of problems. Still, he thought the honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League far more preferable to the defeater of Grindelwald.

All of these thoughts flashed through Harry’s mind in quick succession over a mere second.

There was a moment during which he contemplated exposing Charlus and Hermione. Just firing Stunners indiscriminately into the corner until they found their mark, at which point he would drag their bodies up to the castle and reveal them to whoever would now be serving as Interim Headmaster or Headmistress. He would tentatively wager Professor McGonagall, but Merlin only knew. The magical world wasn’t exactly held in high esteem when evaluated from a logical perspective. It was about as short on logic and common sense as Dumbledore was on fashion sense.

Honestly, the robes that man wore.

In the end, he decided not to reveal his brother and his brother’s friend. Not because he didn’t want to, or because he felt any compassion for the idiot who seemed to stab him in the back any chance he got, but for Harry’s own gain.

If nothing else, Charlus would most definitely follow Hagrid’s cryptic advice.

At which point, Harry would merely need to get whatever he’d learned out of him, or to glean it somehow. 

He already had a half-formed idea taking shape in his mind, and anything even similar to it was likely going to be far easier than going on a wild goose chase that would lead him Merlin only knew where.

He would conduct his own investigation while simultaneously swiping every bit of knowledge Charlus gained during his own.

It would be far easier than the alternative.

After all, even with Dumbledore’s lack of style, he could dress far better than Charlus could keep a secret.

Charlus threw off the cloak as soon as he was sure Harry had left and wasn’t coming back. To be fair, he wasn’t even entirely sure Harry hadn’t known they were there. His eyes had lingered on them for a period of time that felt too long to be natural, but so long as they weren’t caught red-handed, his Slytherin twin had no proof of their supposed wrongdoings.

“Merlin,” muttered Charlus, still very much in awe-struck disbelief and abject horror at the events he had just watched unfold. “What… Dumbledore… no! How could Harry help Malfoy do that!?”

He lashed out in his anger, kicking a massive chair and sending it toppling to the floor. Fang — Hagrid’s enormous, lovable boarhound — immediately switched from sorrowful whining to sharp, startled barks.

“Shh,” hissed Hermione, rushing over to comfort the dog as she glared at Charlus. “Watch what you’re doing! Losing your temper won’t do us any good.”

“Well what else are we supposed to do?” Charlus yelled loudly. “Dumbledore’s gone, Hermione! They just took the greatest wizard in the world out of the castle! He was the best chance we had and now he’s gone. What the hell are we going to do?”

“Well for one thing,” Hermione started, “we have a very specific set of instructions to follow if we want to learn something new about this whole mess.”

Charlus blinked. “Huh?”

Hermione threw her hands up in the air as she rolled her eyes harder than Charlus had ever seen her do before. “Were you not listening when Hagrid gave the least subtle hint I’ve ever heard?”

Charlus blushed crimson. “I… er… was a bit distracted by the whole mess with Dumbledore.”

“Follow the spiders,” Hermione reminded him. “He said if anybody wanted to find anything out, all they would have to do is follow the spiders.”

“Well, let’s go then,” said Charlus, immediately reaching for the cloak before Hermione swatted his hand in obvious annoyance.

“Not now,” she hissed. “It’s the dead of night. It would be a miracle if we could even find any spiders. We also need to look for patterns. Just because they go one direction one night doesn’t mean that they will always go in that direction.”

Charlus gritted his teeth. “Or we could just risk it and try a different direction another night. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? They’re spiders, I doubt they’re going to lead us into some sort of death trap.”

“I think you’re forgetting who’s telling us to follow them. I love Hagrid, but his idea of safe isn’t exactly… normal, is it?”

Charlus straightened at once. “Hagrid would never—“

“I’m not saying Hagrid would ever want us to get hurt. But… well, he doesn’t really think about dangerous things the same way we do. I mean, last year, he was raising a dragon in a wooden hut.”

That effectively silenced Charlus.

“Fine,” he said, “but we need to act fast. Harry getting rid of Dumbledore just makes me wonder even more whether or not he’s the Heir of Slytherin. Or whether he’s working for the Heir.”

Hermione wanted to deny it very badly. The last thing she wanted to do was accept that any twelve-year-old boy could do something so awful. The fact remained that this was also the same twelve-year-old boy who’d led Charlus down the road of learning horrible magic that had befuddled his brain, so she held her tongue.

“I agree,” she said. “We should keep an eye on him the best we can. We have the cloak. When we’re not in class, we could keep an eye on him with that, at least when he isn’t in the Slytherin common room. Maybe carry the cloak at all times. If you see him wandering the halls randomly, throw it on and follow him. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do.”

Charlus nodded resolutely. 

They would get to the bottom of Harry, the spiders, and the Chamber of Secrets. He would stop at nothing to salvage Hagrid’s and Dumbledore’s reputations and make sure the school was safe.

_**Later that night, at Potter Manor…** _

The Hogwarts fiasco had been an absolute nightmare for the Aurors, and James Potter was no exception. If anything, he had spent more time than most investigating the situation, for he had a vested interest in the form of his two sons — both of whom were at least mild suspects in the eyes of some.

On this lonely, chilly night in the middle of March, James sat on the floor of his living room, frantically flipping through old Hogwarts records to no avail. He became distracted from his efforts when all vision was stripped from him by the supernova of light that appeared not even ten feet away from him. He winced as he shielded his eyes and waited for the light to recede. When it did, he blinked bemusedly, having expected just about anything but what, or rather who, now stood in front of him.

“Albus?”

“Good evening, James,” Dumbledore said heavily, looking very tired and old as he stroked the brilliant plumage of the ethereal bird that rested comfortably atop his shoulder. “I do apologize for my rudeness in invading your home at such an unlawful hour of the night. I shall of course leave if you wish, but there are rather urgent developments that have taken place tonight at Hogwarts that I think you would be quite interested in. I also would not be adverse to sanctuary for the night, if you would be so kind.”

“Sanctuary?”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “Yes, indeed. I shall not be permitted to sleep in my old quarters for some time, now that I am no longer the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Fawkes let out a high, sad cry just as James nearly keeled over from the shock. “WHAT!?” he shouted, looking as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to faint, or spend more time shouting.

“Yes, indeed. I fear that the situation at hand is drawing near to what could potentially be a most deadly crescendo.”

“But if you’re not there—”

“Oh, I worry very little about that. Far more worrying to me than my removal are the circumstances that led to it. I feel as though I may actually be more useful to this most noble cause while not presiding over the school, I simply worry for the implications within the school whilst I am gone.”

“What happened?”

“Your son, in large part.” Despite the seriousness of the moment, Dumbledore actually looked just as impressed and amused as he did grave. “I did wonder as to the nature of his game when the _Daily Prophet_ released its most recent bit of gossip. I had hoped it was merely to provide himself a safety net for the coming holidays, but I fear that in actuality, it was a carefully calculated strike that perfectly found its mark in the end.”

“Merlin,” moaned James, “how could he—“

“Very easily. If it was truly Harry acting of his own accord, I cannot truthfully say I blame him. I stand by some of the actions he despises me for, though others were among the worst mistakes I have ever made. From his own set of eyes, however, I can quite easily see why he would want me removed from the castle.” Dumbledore chuckled. “It was actually done quite masterfully, which does make me wonder whether or not there is more afoot.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s the Heir,” James said tiredly.

“I have never once believed Harry to be the Heir of Slytherin,” Dumbledore said calmly. “It was a lead that needed investigating due to the circumstances that have transpired, but I never truly believed it. If Harry is involved, I see him not as the puppet master, but as one of her puppets, caught up in a dangerous display of destruction and deceptions.”

“You think he’s being manipulated?”

“I see two potential avenues,” Dumbledore admitted. “The first is that Harry is, in one way or another, being used by the Heir of Slytherin. Whether or not he is being used to actually open the Chamber of Secrets, or whether he has been used merely as a diversion and now as a weapon against me, I am not certain.”

James seemed to sag in his chair, though he did not dare allow himself to completely believe Dumbledore’s theory. “The other option?”

“Harry is not and has never been at all connected to the Heir of Slytherin and is instead merely caught in their crosshairs. The Heir attacked Miss Greengrass not only to cause political unrest, but to further draw Harry into the fray. If they know him well enough, they might have even assumed he would push for my removal. Both out of admittedly well-earned spite, and because he might view me as an impediment to his own investigations.”

“So he might be trying to go after the Heir?”

“It is possible. Truly, this whole mystery has me quite baffled. I have little doubt who is behind it, but whom she uses, I have not the foggiest of ideas.”

“But you’re going to try and find out?”

Dumbledore sighed. “I have an ominous feeling, James. An ominous feeling that is telling me the identity of Lady Voldemort’s puppet shall only be revealed in due time.” James’s eyes widened at the sentiment pertaining to Voldemort, but the former Hogwarts Headmaster pushed forward. “I think that in order to reach the crux of the problem, we must first identify the problem itself.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we must discover what exactly is attacking students and causing them to vanish in the middle of the night.”

“Do you not think it’s just the Heir stunning them and dragging them off?”

“Not at all. This is not the first time I have seen the fabled Chamber of Secrets opened. The last time, students turned up petrified. I have no doubt that whatever attacked students fifty years ago is loose once more. This time, the Heir is simply hiding the bodies. Likely in the Chamber of Secrets itself.” James let out a gasp, and Dumbledore nodded gravely. “It is my belief that once Slytherin’s monster is identified, we may then make inroads in solving this mystery once and for all.”

“And how are you going to track down this monster?”

“Oh, I have my ideas,” said Dumbledore. “Through some travelling, I suspect. I do have one centric idea that I believe is correct, but I must investigate that idea further. The British Isles are, I am afraid, not the place to do so. Any mention of what I shall be searching for was wiped away centuries ago. To find what I am pursuing, I must travel to the most ancient of places. The places in which magic as we know of it was born. The places where chaos was first controlled.”

James felt that there was a great deal of significance in what Dumbledore had just said. Significance that had somehow gone so far over his head, he had barely even noticed. 

“First,” the man said with a yawn, “I must write a letter, and then I must sleep. Assuming you are so kind, I shall do so here.”

“Of course,” said James. “Do you know where to find the bedrooms?”

“Oh, I’m sure I will manage. Goodnight, James, and I thank you very much for your most gracious hospitality.”

“Goodnight, Albus,” said James, wondering just how bad this nightmare would get before it was finally resolved.

He just hoped he still had two sons by the end of it.

_**March 13, 1993  
The Great Hall  
8:21 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE FORCEFULLY REMOVED FROM HIS POSITION AS HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS DUE TO THE RECENT AND ATROCIOUS ACCUSATIONS LEVELLED AGAINST HIM! HOGWARTS GAMEKEEPER SENT TO AZKABAN PRISON!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

“Dear Merlin, that woman can write a headline,” Blaise said dryly, glancing meaningfully from Harry to the paper. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, old chap?”

“Not here,” hissed Harry. “Tonight.” Blaise nodded, seeming to understand Harry’s meaning instantly. 

When Tracey saw the headline, she actually smiled at Harry, though he noticed even without using his Natural Legilimency how tense and nervous she was. Charlotte looked more curious than anything, whereas her friends Ginny and Laine seemed none too bothered — likely because they weren’t aware of the significance of everything going on.

One figure that did watch his reaction quite intently was Ares, and Harry knew he would be having words with her on the way out. He was also rather sure she had heard what he had said to Blaise.

As Harry ate the rest of his meal, the other half of the infamous Potter twins sat tensely at the Gryffindor table, having to forcefully resist the urge to tear into one of the letters he’d received. One was less sensitive, though that was a very relative term. He had risked opening it anyway, Gryffindor as he was.

He couldn’t risk opening the more sensitive of the two envelopes, however, for he was being watched far too closely. That had become the norm ever since he had unintentionally revealed himself as a Parselmouth.

But Merlin, did he want to rip into that letter… it likely held so many truths. For all he knew, it could hold all the answers he needed.

The owner of that tall, loopy handwriting was, after all, the greatest wizard alive.

Harry wasn’t at all surprised when Ares Black followed him from the Great Hall. He had actually known it to be coming, and simply marched towards the nearest abandoned classroom without a backwards glance, making haste so as not to be spotted by the Aurors.

Once he had entered and warded the room, Harry turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “I want in on your meeting tonight,” she said bluntly.

That… was complicated and potentially problematic.

Harry liked Ares, or at least what he’d seen of her so far. She was often cold and aloof, and she kept her emotions very closely controlled. Even more so than Blaise, who at least occasionally let his facade down around his friends. He supposed that being the daughter of Bellatrix Black, it wasn’t too shocking. Ares did remind him vividly of Bellatrix, just quieter.

The problem was that he didn’t entirely trust her. He had no reason for not trusting her, he just didn’t trust anybody who wasn’t in his close, inner circle of friends. Ginny had been loosely floating around him since October and he didn’t even trust her. Certainly not Laine Slater, whom he trusted even less.

Ares had proven to be a great help in unmasking the Heir of Slytherin, but it was still a rather large leap of faith on her part to ask this of him.

Perhaps not from her perspective, but she wasn’t aware of the Speaker’s Den, among other things.

“I know you might not trust me,” she said as though reading his thoughts, “but you know I can help you. I’ve helped you already, and if you want me to keep helping you, I need to stay informed. That’s the only way this is going to work. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“My problem is that I think you’re more concerned with helping yourself.”

“That’s fair, but we both want the same thing, so it isn’t overly relevant. You want the Heir’s head on a stick because they attacked one of your best friends and it seems like they at least tried to frame you earlier in the year. I want the Heir because of the Greengrass attack as well. They lost all respect from me when they attacked one of the most important families in our country. 

“It’s more than that though,” she continued. “I know you and Draco didn’t get along, but he was my only friend for years. He had his less than flattering moments, but I really do care for him more than anybody else. If it wasn’t for this Heir of Slytherin, he might still be at Hogwarts. It looked really bad, him making a scene at the Greengrass’s ball and then their heiress going missing. Not good publicity at all, and he could easily be blamed for the attack on the Weasley twins for the same reasons you could have been. 

“It was part of the reason why my Uncle Lucius pulled him from the school. The Heir of Slytherin cost me a friend, too. At least, they cost me a friend for ten months out of the year. I know it’s not as horrible as what’s happened to you, but I am very protective of my friends. I don’t have many of them, and that’s ignoring the whole bit about him being family.

“I hate that I’m telling you any of this, but I need to be in on this, Harry. I need you to understand that. I want the Heir almost as badly as you do, but I can’t help if I’m left in the dark, and I somehow have a feeling nothing you say tonight will be leaving that meeting.”

Harry wanted so badly to say no.

He still didn’t quite trust her, but Merlin damn his sympathy and her relatability.

He contemplated crushing the emotion with Occlumency for all of three seconds before it was cast to the side as a horrible idea. Whether Emily was the Heir of Slytherin or not, he trusted her views on magic, which confused him greatly.

If she had been the Heir of Slytherin, why didn’t she encourage him to learn the Dark Arts in the same way that Charlus had? She had even done the opposite. Gently but firmly guiding him away from any potential land mines he might stumble across.

It confused him greatly and his trust for her was shattered completely. As made clear by the fact he hadn’t written in their shared journal since he’d been made aware of the details pertaining to Hagrid’s expulsion and the jarring revelations that had preceded it.

But he still trusted her judgement on all things magic. 

She might be a monster, but everything he had diligently researched had shown she had always been completely honest with him in regards to magic. Even her Occlumency exercises had been as advertised.

She had warned him against suppressing positive emotions just as much as she had warned him against suppressing negative ones. It was a warning he was going to follow, and thus he allowed the sympathy he felt for Ares to wash over him and he could do little more than sigh and nod his agreement.

_**That night, on the fourth floor…** _

Charlus felt beaten and battered by the time he left Lockhart’s office late that night, almost exactly twenty-four hours after Dumbledore had been driven out of the school by his snake of a brother and the man whom he was sure had once been a Death Eater — Lucius Malfoy.

Lockhart had urgently requested his presence via one of the two letters he’d received earlier that very day.

He had started questioning Charlus about anything he might know of Dumbledore’s expulsion from the castle the moment the young Gryffindor had walked through his door. Charlus had very defeatedly confessed to having witnessed the scene of Dumbledore’s forced exit, though he did leave out the part about his invisibility cloak.

His father had always been very insistent he keep that as secret as possible. 

He’d told Ron and Hermione, but they were his best friends and notable exceptions.

He could tell Lockhart hadn’t believed the bit about him and Hermione hiding under Hagrid’s table, but he hadn’t pressed him for too much information.

Lockhart had swiftly decided their training in defensive magic needed to be taken to a new level. Charlus hadn’t even known that was possible, but by Merlin it was.

They would now be working on spell deflection; an extremely advanced ability that required at least the beginnings of non-verbal magic capabilities — as well as an absurd amount of precision. Not to mention the fact you needed to be able to at least vaguely identify the spell coming towards you, unless you wanted to just run the risk of trying to overpower it.

Needless to say, Charlus had not been at all successful. 

He had been battered by the constant barrages of spells hurled his way by his sadistic professor, but he hadn’t broken, quit, nor given up. In vain, perhaps, but he had put one-hundred percent effort into each and every attempt until finally, Lockhart had called it off, sending Charlus back to his common room, impressing upon him to practice the non-verbal bit on his own whenever he was able. 

Limping, Charlus made his way down the corridor two floors above the man’s office, reflecting on the other bit of mail he had received that morning. One he hadn’t been able to open until he’d made the excuse to retreat to his dormitory to “grab his textbook”.

_**Earlier that day, in Gryffindor Tower…** _

_Dear Charlus,  
I am truly sorry I could not say a proper goodbye to you, but as I know you saw, I was rather rushed during my untimely exit from the school that I love so very much._

_I would like to write to you not only to update you as to the goings-on outside the castle, but as well as what I believe might just be the goings-on inside the castle._

_Firstly, any information you glean should be sent to me immediately. I cannot stress this enough. I will be travelling to research a few of my own suspicions pertaining to horrible things that should never be researched at all. I am unsure when the next time I may have time to write to you will be, but I have little doubt it will be a significant period of time from now. I will, however, read anything you send me. I have no doubt an owl will be able to find me, though doing so may serve as a time-consuming challenge for the poor bird in question._

_Any information you can provide me will aid greatly in the ending of this mess, so all of it would be immensely appreciated._

_I like to think of myself as a giving man, however, so I shall impart some wisdom onto you in return for asking for any of it you yourself might soon be able to provide me._

_I implore you to watch your twin very closely, but to do so with the utmost caution._

_It is imperative he does not discover you doing this. I am unsure whether he is an extremely determined and dangerous opponent of the Heir of Slytherin, or whether he is in some way connected to our shadowy assailant. If it is the latter, I do not think him directly responsible, but merely an agent of whoever might be behind this. If that is the case, you and your investigations must not be discovered. Without knowing how the Heir is making students disappear, I am unsure whether or not your cloak would serve as any defence against them. I do not wish to find out, so I stress again that you must not be seen, but that keeping an eye on your twin may turn out to be essential in assuring a positive future._

_Speaking of your cloak, I would kindly ask you to keep it on your person at all times and to not be afraid to use it. If you must flee, then flee. There is no shame in doing what must be done to win the ultimate victory we seek. The only shame is in letting down your side by knowingly doing what is most directly responsible for their defeat._

_Heed my words, Charlus, and do keep the light at the end of the tunnel in mind. We are entering dark, perilous times, but I assure you the light will shine through by the end. Keep your head and your heart intact, and I know we will prevail. Simply heed my words here, and the ones I spoke in Hagrid’s hut, for I know you were there looming. I only hope you took in the last-minute wisdom I tried my best to impart upon you._

_Stay safe and best wishes.  
Yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore_

_**Back in the present…** _

Charlus’s jaw set as he marched towards Gryffindor Tower, hidden under his cloak just as he knew Professor Dumbledore would want.

They were going to get through this and come out on the right side in the end.

He just knew they would.

_**March 27, 1993  
Knockturn Alley  
8:53 PM** _

Diagon Alley was a beautiful place at night, even with the bitterly cold winds tearing through its centre that had not yet been driven off by the turning of the season. Its myriad of brightly coloured signs, vibrant displays, and lit windows stood out starkly against the otherwise velvety night. From a distance, they might have looked like a number of overgrown fireflies, while those closer to them would simply have been bathed in the light, which was so plentiful it might as well have been everywhere in the alley, and not dotted haphazardly around as it was.

Knockturn Alley, on the other hand, was an abyss of pure blackness. 

None of the bright light from its sister alley seemed to make a dent in the ominous layer of impenetrable darkness that seemed to blanket the alley. If anything, it was akin to a black hole, drawing all nearby light towards its ultimate demise. Or, if the lights in Diagon were overgrown fireflies, then the darkness of Knockturn was the world’s largest and most inescapable Venus flytrap. 

It was so dark in the shadier of the two alleys that not even those who were intently watching would have noticed the lone figure creeping in the alleyway. He was much smaller than most of the figures who usually frequented the alley, and he wore a cloak that was purposefully too large, its hood cast his face into shadow, seeming to obscure it in the same way the endless blackness obscured the alley he stood in.

Sneaking out of Hogwarts had been more difficult than he had thought it might be.

The exception he had last used to escape the castle had been temporarily voided by the Wizengamot, which meant he needed to sneak out as opposed to merely walking out. That was made difficult when he realized Aurors seemed to know of the secret passages out of the castle. Harry wondered if his father had told them. It had taken some time, for he had not wanted to move until he was absolutely certain his plans would go off without a hitch.

With the aid of his memory, he eventually worked out whereabouts the Aurors would be at each time of the night. Deducing that had taken a frankly absurd amount of sneaking around using his ring and the serpentine portraits in the dungeons where possible. The problem was that nearly all of the portraits were on the dungeon floor, and even with their friends in other portraits above, it was no longer going to be a sufficient network of spies. Not if he wanted to unmask the Heir of Slytherin, which he in fact wanted above all things.

It had taken several weeks to work out when the Aurors would be in an appropriate position, but Harry had eventually worked it out and slipped out of the castle. He’d debated taking the floo from Hogsmeade, but he surely would have been sold out by Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. Briefly, he had considered the Hog’s Head, but Charlotte had informed him the bartender was inexplicably Albus Dumbledore’s brother. How one brother had become arguably the greatest wizard since Merlin, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards whilst the other had settled as a mere bartender, Harry had no idea.

With his friends’ input, he had eventually decided the Knight Bus was going to be his best option. He’d never ridden it before and by the time it arrived in the streets of Diagon Alley, he couldn’t say he much enjoyed it. Flying and the Gringotts carts were one thing. Feeling as though you were going to die for every nanosecond of a ride on a triple-decker bus was another thing altogether.

Once in Diagon Alley, it had been all too easy to sneak into Knockturn Alley with his hood up. Nobody in there cared about age. The less pleasant occupants would not hold back if they wanted something from you, regardless of age, but the shopkeepers wouldn’t deny anyone based on their age, either. As long as their customers had gold, the legality of their transactions mattered not.

Which was how Harry found himself in a Magical menagerie specializing in snakes. Surprisingly, snakes were not for sale in Diagon Alley. Likely as a result of the stigma that had formed around them, in large part due to Voldemort’s reign of terror over Magical Britain. 

Even if they were though, Harry still would have come here.

He wasn’t seeking a serpentine familiar or anything of the like. He was seeking a larger number of snakes. All of them also had to be extremely intelligent and able to follow very specific orders and give very specific intel. 

It was time to upgrade his spy network.

__**April 9, 1993  
The Seventh Floor  
10:32 PM**

Charlus and Hermione slid easily from the Gryffindor common room under the invisibility cloak. 

For the last number of weeks, they had spent most nights observing the patterns of the spiders and had decided, with no small bit of dread, that they did indeed consistently scuttle their way down and into the Forbidden Forest. Given the horror stories told about the Black Forest, neither of them were at all looking forward to the experience of entering it.

However, Charlus was resolute that they would follow the spiders, no matter where that led them. Hermione found herself resigned to the idea, and she had been given no choice but to reluctantly agree that it was important.

Charlus really did wish Ron was here, even in spite of his friend’s intense phobia of spiders. His natural humour would have been very much appreciated at the moment, for Charlus was sure it would have been most effective in breaking the oppressive tension that blanketed the pair, seeming to bury them under its unbearable weight. Unfortunately, Molly and Arthur had decided Ron would not be returning to Hogwarts this year.

The two had tried to follow Harry, but it was nearly impossible. He also seemed to have a way to turn invisible, which Charlus couldn’t decide if he was more incredulous or furious about. He also just knew the castle better than Charlus or Hermione likely ever would, and they eventually had to very reluctantly admit defeat. It wasn’t often at all they saw him out in the corridors but when they did, he used one of — or a combination of — those advantages to be impossible to follow, even without knowing he was being tailed.

So with Harry out of the picture, they had but one avenue left in terms of their ongoing investigation.

Follow the spiders.

_**Minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

Harry’s night had been normal right up until the moment a snake who’d obviously slithered into the common room one of the last few times its entrance had been opened coiled around Harry’s leg to get his attention.

With a hurried excuse to his friends, he discretely scooped the creature up and bolted for the bathrooms, locking and warding the door behind him.

**“What is it?”** he hissed.

**“The one you wished for us to watch has left his common room. Somebody we cannot see has, anyway, and we assume it to be him. He has been followed down to the first floor and the front doors opened and closed, though we saw no one leave.”**

Harry shot to his feet at once.

This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

He’d thought when Dumbledore was out of the picture, aggressively investigating the Heir of Slytherin situation would have been much easier than it had been.

Whether the old codger had put him up to it or whether Charlus was just being shockingly pragmatic, Harry knew he was being tailed by his brother while under the cloak. Not because he ever caught him in the act. Every time he cast Homenum Revelio — a spell that had been an absolute nightmare to learn — it came up empty. Obviously, he was just choosing the wrong times to cast it. But he knew he was being followed because a few of the snakes had infiltrated the Gryffindor common room and had heard Charlus and Hermione discussing the fact. 

They also knew they were planning to do something during an undisclosed night that would take up a considerable amount of time.

Tonight was clearly that night.

With his tails busy for the evening, it was time for Harry to truly investigate.

Priority number one — investigate the second-floor corridor near where Mrs. Norris had been found.

_**At the same moment, in an abandoned classroom…** _

The Slytherin common room’s entrance had opened three times in the last twenty minutes. It had admitted three figures, all of whom had discreetly made for the same classroom in the dungeons. It was one that had not been in use for some time.

It was also the one Charlotte Weitts had almost been brutalized in, and it was the one in which Mulciber and Jugson — two of the three present figures — had been essentially tortured by Legilimency. Mulciber in particular had needed to spend several weeks at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

The two of them had just finished retelling the story of exactly what they remembered happening to the older student that stood before them. He was taller than either of them and had very pale skin and jet-black hair. 

“I’m sorry for your suffering,” the boy said, though he didn’t particularly sound like he meant it. “I won’t be needing your help again. It’s clear the two of you can’t deal with her.”

“W-w-what are you going to do, then?” asked Jugson in a wavering voice.

The older boy’s intense eyes darkened as his hand twitched towards his wand. “I’m going to do it myself. I should have just fired something worse than a Stunner when I tried to let you two resolve this whole thing. It won’t matter soon, though. Weitts will get hers — both of them will.”

_**Two hours later, on the second floor…** _

Harry had spent so long searching the second floor to no avail that he had almost been convinced his search would be fruitless.

That had been until he’d struck gold.

Following a gut instinct, Harry had decided to check the hidden passage behind the set of armour near the bathroom. The one Voldemort — while disguised as Hurst — had shown him on Halloween night of his first year.

What he found in the alcoves shook him to his core, though it might not have had any connection to the Heir of Slytherin.

A lone piece of parchment was lying face up.

But not just any piece of parchment.

It was a map, but it was unlike any map Harry had ever seen. It obviously showed the names of every single person residing in or around the castle.

This was priceless.

Not only would it help Harry discover things about the ancient castle he might never have otherwise, but it was also going to be instrumental in his one, true goal.

With this map in Harry’s posession, the Heir of Slytherin stood no chance.

_**Hours later, on the grounds of Hogwarts...** _

Charlus was shaking like a leaf as he and Hermione crept as quietly across the Hogwarts grounds as they could, slowly and unsteadily ascending the sloping lawns leading up to the large, oak front doors. Charlus was shooting glances back towards the forest every now and again, wondering just where the Ford Anglia that had saved their lives was now.

Hermione had most certainly been right.

Hagrid’s idea of finding out information was apparently achieved by walking into a colony of blood-thirsty spiders the size of elephants. They had been utterly helpless when the car had shown up, but the one, sole benefit of being utterly helpless was that your captors tended to be rather loose-lipped, at times. They had assumed nothing they said would ever leave where they held the teens captive.

It wasn’t much, but at least Charlus and Hermione now knew that whatever monster loomed in the fabled Chamber of Secrets was one that the acromantula feared above all others.

It meant nothing to them and would likely be wholly unhelpful but if anybody could do anything with the information, it was Professor Dumbledore.

As exhausted as Charlus might have been, he had a letter to write before it was time for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know this chapter is much shorter than what you have all become accustomed to throughout the year, but this will probably be the norm until year 2’s thirty-third chapter. Most of the setup and subplots are done, minus one that will be resolved in the next two chapters. That inevitably means the chapters in question don’t need to be nearly as long, so until chapter thirty-three of year two, expect chapters of this length.**
> 
> **At that point, you will get two 20k+ word chapters back to back, and then one or two more to round off year 2.**
> 
> **Don’t ask me how that works — it will make sense to you all soon enough.**
> 
> **In other news, the next chapter of the AoC audiobook is now up on YouTube and Spotify! The links can be found on my profile.**
> 
> **Also, remember — Christmas one-shot coming soon!**
> 
> **Happy Holidays, everyone!**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 26th, 2020. Or you can read it now by joining my Discord server, or read the next three by signing up on P*T*E*N.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors 1saaa, Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, CCCP. Discodancepant, Regress, Sesc and Shaqb4 for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	29. Two More Pieces Left to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**April 2, 1993  
The Restricted Section  
10:57 PM** _

Much of the Hogwarts library was currently dimly-lit. Large windows allowed copious amounts of light to flow into the vast room, casting a blend of light and shadow over the portion of the room closest to the windows in question. Even the deep recesses of the library — far enough away from the window for no sunlight to intrude upon them — were lit by the soft light of the torches that were present in so much of the immense, ancient castle.

At night, it was different, especially in the much smaller, far less travelled sectors of the library.

Curfew had been in effect for several hours, and the cavernous room was completely quiet and void of any light. The silvery, luminescent light of the moon — which was nearing the end of its monthly cycle — would have cast small pools of light in the room, but the windows were veiled by dark, heavy curtains. The soft glow of torches was non-existent, for they had been snuffed out with the arrival of curfew sometime earlier.

All was quiet and not a soul was present.

Until a bookshelf noiselessly slid forward and the floorspace it had occupied suddenly slid aside with it, allowing a small, dark figure to pull themselves up through a hidden trapdoor that had barely been used in a great many years.

Harry had thought his knowledge of the castle was expansive. He was fairly sure that, outside of the Weasley twins, their friend Lee Jordan, and perhaps a few other exceptions, he was the most knowledgeable person as to the many mysteries the castle seemed to guard with the protectiveness and fervour of an old woman hiding a secret recipe she had developed decades earlier. Perhaps some of the professors knew more of these secrets than him, too, but Harry couldn’t be sure.

The point was that he knew a lot about the castle. Far more than most students ever knew, anyway.

This fact was very true, but it hadn’t changed the truth of the last few days. During that time, he had been forced to accept that he didn’t know quite as much about the ancient castle as he had believed. At least, he didn’t know quite as many of its secrets as he’d thought. Far more of them had remained hidden than he could have ever imagined, though they now had been made known to him by the beauties of the Marauder’s Map.

That’s what the glorious piece of parchment left in the alcove on the second floor seemed to be called.

It had been lying face up when Harry had seen it, but he had immediately ascertained its use and hadn’t hesitated for a second in swiping it. He had a strange feeling it had belonged to the Weasley twins, though he suspected they hadn’t created it. It wasn’t known where they were attacked, but that seemed as good a place as any. It actually made sense, from a strategic standpoint. An ambush right as they were exiting the alcove Harry had found the map in. The Heir of Slytherin might have simply never investigated the alcove and thereby never found the map.

There was a part of him that found this odd, particularly if the person behind this really was an Heir of Slytherin. Naturally, they should have been well-versed in the castle’s many secrets, and they certainly shouldn’t have overlooked such an obvious alcove. 

After putting more thought into the matter, the oddity had only confirmed Harry’s suspicions that Emily Riddle, being the Heir of Slytherin, was acting through another. She had told him via writing she wasn’t in Britain and hadn’t been in years, so there was a chance she had actually been honest and was simply manipulating another. She was so masterful with magic that Harry wondered whether or not she may even have been capable of acting in the same way Voldemort had last year.

Whomever she was using must not have seen the map, and they certainly would have had they investigated the passage. Nobody would leave that tool just lying there, ripe for the taking. It would have been utter madness to waste such a potentially useful object.

Ever since finding the map, Harry had spent a great deal of time studying it. So many passages were found and noted by its creators that Harry had never been aware of — he was sure there were even more that had eluded even the Marauders. Still, their knowledge of the castle was exceedingly impressive, and Harry could only assume they had been very near the end of their Hogwarts education by the time they had created it. Not only was the magic involved likely advanced to the point of being impossible for him to currently comprehend, but he couldn’t see any other way they would have gained so much advanced knowledge about the castle. He had spent more time than any he knew investigating its vast halls, and the knowledge they had accumulated put his own to shame.

Hell, he had perhaps spent even more time exploring than the Weasley twins. They might have actually known very little about the castle. If they had this map, it wasn’t exactly as though knowledge of their own was overly necessary.

When studying the map, he had noticed a secret passage leading into the heart of the Restricted Section. One that was particularly well-hidden and one he was fairly confident in saying likely hadn’t been found nor used in some time. Judging by the excessive amounts of dust present in the dark passageway, he conjectured his earlier assumptions had been very much correct. 

He had spent much of the year lamenting his failure to take advantage of the pass he had posessed during his first year granting him access to the Restricted Section. Especially now, while hunting down the Heir of Slytherin. There had been a brief time not long before finding the map when he had considered sneaking into the shadier section of the library, but he knew it was warded. He had a feeling those wards would probably alert Madam Pince and possibly others to his unwelcome presence. He had no idea how to remove or breach wards yet, so that was a problem. Even if he did, he assumed taking down the Hogwarts wards would be utterly impossible. Many said they were the very best in the country, if not the world.

Once he had seen the passage on the map, he had leapt on the opportunity, and this was how he found himself stepping up and out of the trapdoor, watching the bookshelf slide noiselessly back into place as he cast his eyes around the ominously dark and shady shelves that towered up all around him.

He needed two things.

Questionable and powerful magic that might help him in his crusade against the Heir of Slytherin, and some sort of spell that might help him learn more about the map’s nature.

He still hadn’t gotten it to wipe itself clean of the intricate display it showed. He was sure it could, for any with the capability to create such a thing would have doubtlessly understood the need for subtlety. There was probably a password or something. He needed a spell to help him devise exactly what that was, and any other potential facets of the map.

He would need every advantage he could get in whatever was to come, for he had a feeling the end of this deadly dance was drawing near.

When everything inevitably went to hell, he needed to be ready.

_**April 11, 1993  
The Speaker’s Den  
9:24 PM** _

Harry stared with great concern as the snake that slithered its way into the Slytherin common room finished its report. 

It had subtly drawn Harry’s attention and been taken into the Den, at which point it relayed the messages from its brothers, many of whom had been tasked with tailing Charlus and Hermione in an effort to glean anything they might know that he didn’t.

Thus far, his endeavours had been fruitless. 

He did know that the same night he had found the Marauder’s Map — which he still had yet to figure out the workings of — they had exited the Forbidden Forest visibly shaken. After his own brief stint in the forest near the end of his first year, Harry wasn’t terribly surprised, though he did wonder intensely what they had been in there for. He considered it pure idiocy to willingly venture into those woods. Then again, his brother had never exactly been full of common sense. Granger was at least intelligent though, despite all of her other flaws. He would have thought she would have pointed out what was wrong with strolling casually into an area occupied by an unspecified number of quintessentially dangerous things.

She obviously hadn’t, which just as obviously meant they felt they had needed to venture into the forest. 

Why? He still didn’t know.

His brother had chosen a very inconvenient time to suddenly sprout a brain. Harry found it quite annoying. He hadn’t let anything slip as far as the snakes could tell, and they had tailed him everywhere they could. This meant that he was likely only speaking about sensitive matters in very out of the way places, or while protected by some fairly powerful privacy wards. The Muffliato spell was a likely candidate if Harry had to bet.

All of that might have sounded obvious, but Harry also hadn’t forgotten how the idiot had blabbed about his entire Polyjuice plan while Myrtle listened into the whole thing. He wasn’t exactly known for subtlety, and Harry was, quite frankly, annoyed he had chosen now of all times to start being subtle.

His brother just really had an innate talent for pissing Harry off, even when he wasn’t trying to.

It was vaguely impressive, in an oddly warped and infuriating sort of way.

In the end, he could do little more than tell his snakes to keep searching. If nothing continued to turn up, he would have to look into alternative methods of prying Charlus’s secrets from him.

_**April 16, 1993  
An Abandoned Classroom  
8:15 PM** _

A pale boy with dark hair leant back in his chair, looking over those who he viewed as being beneath him with cold, hard indifference, mixed with no small bit of defiance. 

“You’re… sure this isn’t too far?” one of his associates asked. “If they ever find out what we’re doing—”

“They won’t,” the head figure said from his chair, his snap of a voice cutting across one of his several accomplices with ruthless efficiency. “Leave that up to me, Jugson. I have it all under control.” Marcus Jugson — Slytherin seventh year and Alex Jugson’s older brother — shut his mouth in a hurry and nodded.

“This is… a lot,” another pointed out.

“Sometimes,” said the lead figure, a sort of twisted, sadistic smile adorning his regal-looking face, “extremism is needed to solve extremely irritating problems.”

No one dared argue with him any further.

_**April 20, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:36 PM** _

By the time Harry and Charlotte concluded their session that Tuesday evening, both of them were practically slumped against their desks. Charlotte due to the rigorous routine and mock duel Harry had subjected her to, and Harry from spending the last number of minutes trying to control and guide his Legilimency probe, something he was still struggling with.

Since their first lesson, Charlotte had come a long way in duelling. Her defence still wasn’t quite up to par with her offence. She had long since mastered the Protego Shield, though spell deflection was still very much beyond her. Harry had a feeling she wouldn’t be mastering that this year, and that it might be a project for her second year more so than her first. She also just seemed more predisposed to attacking, as her offensive instincts were far greater than her defensive ones.

But she was improving.

As was Harry in Legilimency. He could now partially guide a probe, though he could do so with zero subtlety and very questionable consistency. It turned out that being a Natural Legilimens didn’t make controlling the ability any easier. Just that you could do it and had the potential to go further. He really should have gleaned that from Charlotte’s troubles much earlier in the year. The problem with that thought was, despite remembering those troubles, it seemed like an age had passed since them. So much had happened since then.

“You might actually get through stage two by the end of the school year,” Charlotte said thoughtfully.

“That would be ideal,” said Harry. “The terrifying thing is that even after stage two, I’ll be miles away from breaching the mind of anybody who is even decent at Occlumency.”

“I personally found stage two one of the harder levels,” said Charlotte.”I have no idea if it’s a side-effect of Natural Legilimency, but take it as you will.” 

For a time so short it must not have been even a second, Harry made a mental note to write to Emily before he had to forcefully wipe the thought from his mind. She would most certainly know if it was true, particularly because she was — according to her — a Natural Legilimens as well. However, she was not someone Harry wanted to write to during this entire Heir of Slytherin debacle. He still considered it a minor miracle that she hadn’t purposefully led him astray already, and he had no desire to test his luck once more. He seemed to have a very limited supply of it to work with at the best of times, and he suspected there to be a high probability he had already used up his reserves of it for the year.

Plus, he really just hated the Heir of Slytherin with a burning passion, and he was pretty sure Emily Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin.

“Could be,” Harry answered noncommittally, thinking rather deeply about it. “The whole concept of being a Natural Legilimens basically just means your mind naturally forms connections for you. That wouldn’t have anything to do with control. It makes sense that we would have a harder time with the control bit, since the connections are stronger and there’s a good chance our mind will start forming them before we know how to handle it.”

Charlotte looked rather stunned. “That… actually makes a lot of sense.” She eyed him curiously. “How do you know how Natural Legilimentes work?”

“Sorry, I can’t say. It’s… complicated.”

Charlotte sighed but nodded thoughtfully. “And the rest of what you said?”

“I literally just worked out on my own. I have no idea if any of it’s actually right or not, but it makes sense to me.”

Charlotte seemed to agree, for she hummed along before broaching a new topic of conversation. “Am I allowed to ask you about your Occlumency? I have no plans of actually checking it.”

Tension seemed to settle over the room. It was the first time discussion of Occlumency had arisen between the two of them since the incident in the Speaker’s Den nearly three months earlier.

“You can,” Harry said warily, “but it might be time to talk about… you know.”

Charlotte looked intensely uncomfortable, but she continued anyway, clearly realizing she was in too far to turn back now. “How are you progressing with it? I… know where you were at in January.” 

“I’m right at the end of level two. I think I’m getting tested to see if I can progress to level three later this week.” 

He could tell Charlotte wanted to ask who his tutor was, but she didn’t, instead choosing to ask a completely different question.

“You knew it was me who entered your mind in the Den?”

“Sort of,” Harry admitted. “It was odd. I could sort of… tell it was you, I guess. Maybe because you’ve actually entered my mind before. I have no idea if that’s a thing or not; being able to recognize somebody’s Legilimency after it’s used on you in the past. Even if I hadn’t recognized it at the time, it was pretty obvious, to be fair. I know damn well Tracey is no Legilimens. Blaise actually might be. I know he knows Occlumency, and probably quite a bit of it. I have a feeling he isn’t good enough at Legilimency to do whatever the hell you did though.”

“The thing I needed to do wasn’t actually that hard,” admitted Charlotte. “It was more dealing with everything else at the same time that was difficult, and making sure to not screw something else up in the process.”

“My point still stands,” countered Harry, and Charlotte ended up nodding reluctantly. “I am going to hope very strongly that you haven’t told anyone anything you saw.”

“I… don’t think I can, even if I wanted to.”

Harry’s brows rose. “Somebody did impose the Sanction, then?”

“Zabini did, yes.”

That was interesting. Evidently, one didn’t need to be a Parselmouth to impose it. Harry supposed that made sense since he had always spoken in English when invoking it, but it was still a useful tidbit to know. 

“That makes the whole thing much easier,” said Harry with an outward sigh of relief. “I’ve read quite a bit about the Sanction. It’s still a bit of a mystery to me but, the best I can work out, it makes it physically impossible for any information put under it to leak. It will physically prevent you from telling anyone if you try, and the way it reads, it doesn’t even sound like the information could be taken from you or shared through Legilimency.”

“That… is a very powerful Sanction.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like it before, but something similar might exist.”

Charlotte bit her lip. “I’ve… seen things similar, but they are very rare. Sanctions as powerful as that one, I mean.” Silence hung in the air as Harry slowly and deliberately formed the obvious next question on his tongue, but Charlotte beat him to the proverbial punch. “Do you know what I saw?”

“I think so. It’s… hazy, but I remember the memories that flashed through my mind.”

“The one from last year—”

“Not here!” Charlotte blanched at the intensity with which Harry spoke and the older boy seemed to ponder very deeply before speaking his next words. “I… might need to explain some things when this whole Heir of Slytherin mess is over. I’ve… been holding off telling anyone. I don’t trust people. I never really have, and this is a big thing to just reveal to people. The Sanction stops you from revealing any information, but it doesn’t stop you from acting on the information. I’m unsure of the Greengrass’s loyalties, and I’m even more unsure about your family’s and the Zabini’s.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” prefaced Charlotte. “I don’t honestly expect you to believe me at face value, but my grandfather despises Voldemort.” Harry was a bit surprised at how casually Charlotte threw out the Dark Lady’s name. Her sister had spoken it with no quiver last summer, but he supposed it just felt odd coming from Charlotte. “My family has reasons for detesting her, but I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Your family was neutral in the Purity War, right?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked conflicted. “I… want to tell you guys some of the things I know. I think it’s important if you’re going to be around me since I have… some suspicions that might concern you guys directly.” His throat constricted. “Especially… after Daphne.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Harry, we’ll be ready to listen. None of us judge you for holding secrets. I know you’ve figured this out already, but most everyone in your circle of friends has a ton of secrets. We don’t judge you for keeping yours, and we won’t judge you for only telling them to us when in the Den and with the Sanction imposed.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “I would actually recommend that you only tell us there.”

Harry felt a modicum lighter, even if the oppressive tension of the year was still resting heavily atop his shoulders. “Thanks, Charlotte. I… really do appreciate it.”

_**April 21, 1993  
Gryffindor Tower  
10:11 PM** _

Charlus and Lockhart had long since given up properly scheduling meetings. They now just met up whenever the professor was able. With the forced lockdown of the castle, it made a prearranged schedule rather difficult. A small number of students did still flagrantly violate curfew, but it was more difficult for them, with Lockhart being one of the professors. Charlus had asked him once why they didn’t simply put permanent tripwire wards all over the castle. The man had answered something vague about how the Hogwarts wards were very finicky. They hadn’t wanted to chance adding anything else permanent on top of them. Especially if it was the force of Aurors casting them. They were already pushing the Hogwarts charter to its limits. Best to leave the castle’s infrastructure well enough alone, whenever possible.

Spell deflection was still troubling Charlus greatly, and he had yet to truly get a handle on it. That was perhaps an understatement though, as he had thus far failed to do it so much as once. He certainly had the reflexes and coordination, but the necessity for non-verbal spell casting was troubling him greatly. Lockhart said that it wasn’t something that came naturally to everyone, even to those much older and more seasoned than Charlus. The mind had to be trained to work in a very specific way for non-verbal casting to be effective. He had also pointed out that the skill was not typically expected of Hogwarts students until their sixth year and that Charlus was, for all of his fame, talent and notoriety, only a second year.

He knew the man had a point, though it had done nothing to console him. Worse still was that he felt as though he was making no progress at all in Occlumency. He knew this wasn’t true and that he was really making progress, it just did not at all feel that way to him. Lockhart had warned him that he would be spending months doing little more than meditating, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Very far from it, as a matter of fact. For all he was touted for, patience was most certainly something that the Boy-Who-Lived lacked. It was perhaps the reason he was struggling so much with non-verbal casting and meditation, now that he thought about it.

Charlus tried to shove all of these thoughts down as he stepped across the threshold and into his dormitory after his most recent lesson with Lockhart.

When he entered, something immediately caught his attention, something that was distinctly odd.

A piece of green parchment lay atop his bed. It seemed to shine silver every time it was caught by the light, and Charlus could not help but feel a pang of dread as he strode carefully towards it. This was also when he came to the sudden realization that he really ought to learn some basic detection spells. Deciding to trust his instincts, Charlus picked up the peace of parchment with very few words written on it in an elegant script. This whole situation felt very ominous, but he had a strong feeling the parchment wasn’t dangerous in and of itself. 

Merely the implications of what was written upon it.

_You’re running out of time. The end draws near, Charlus Potter. Two more pieces left to fall, and then any intervention on your part will be wasteful and ill-timed. Two more pieces left to fall and we shall see how the saviour fares against the foe he was thought to have vanquished._

_Two more pieces left to fall, and the real game begins._

_Make haste, Boy-Who-Lived, for time is not on your side._

_-The Heir of Slytherin_

Charlus felt his blood run cold but before he could do anything with the offending bit of parchment, it burst into flames in his hands. The fire seemed to do nothing to his skin, only the parchment which it hungrily consumed in front of his very eyes.

Two more pieces left to fall.

Charlus had no idea what that meant, but it did not sound good.

He could only hope that either Hermione or Dumbledore could work something out if the latter was even getting his mail like he had said he would.

_**At that same moment, in the kitchens…** _

The pale figure stood in the centre of what had been a gaggle of house-elves with his intentionally oversized cloak wrapped tightly around him, the hood pulled up to obscure his face.

He had realized quite quickly the creatures had no intention of complying with his plans, so he had needed another solution.

That solution had been a number of Stunners and Memory Charms. Thank Merlin the latter was easier to perform on house-elves, who had rather simplistic minds.

Only one elf remained at his feet, the others having been shoved into the corner and allowed to wake at their own time.

He needed at least one elf’s compliance for his plan to work, and he was going to accept nothing less than his plan succeeding flawlessly.

“Imperio!”

_**Meanwhile, in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

The ancient chamber of Salazar Slytherin stood just as pristine as the day the Hogwarts founder had put the final touches on the fabled room. Not a speck of dust rested anywhere on the cold, stone floor, and the columns were as structurally sound as one could possibly hope for. The torchlight flickered, sending long, ominous shadows dancing across the walls like cultists partaking in an ancient ritual. That was if such a tranquil scene as the one described could be as sinister as the air that permeated the room where five bodies lay, bound and unmoving.

In the centre of the room, a figure surveyed the bound bodies with detached indifference. 

None of them were important to her. Not beyond being merely a means to an end, at least. Even the prized Daphne Greengrass was little more than a pawn. One she could carelessly discard or do with as she pleased.

Her footsteps echoed against the floor, sounding resoundingly through the hall in the absence of any other noise to speak of.

None of the figures moved, and would not for some time.

There would only be one captive she would let move.

A captive she had not yet captured, for the time had yet to be right.

He would fall soon enough, but several pieces still needed to be arranged in order for that to happen.

With a flick of a wand that rested in the hand of a body she was currently controlling, Emily summoned the lunar chart to her in an instant. There was a full moon on June 4th. 

That was plenty of time.

Plenty of time for the next piece to fall, which, in turn, would lead the final pawn into her open arms, and complete the set she so desperately needed.

It would all work, just as she had planned so many months ago. Now, not even Albus Dumbledore stood in her way.

Yes, all had and would continue to go according to plan. It always did.

__**April 22, 1993**  
A Room in the Dungeons  
9:53 PM 

Harry sagged with complete and total exhaustion the second Grace withdrew from his mind. His body would have tumbled from his chair and thudded against the classroom floor had the older girl not leant forward and reached out to steady him. His vision swam both from exertion and disorientation, but it slowly refocused and he blinked the exhaustion away the best he could.

“Congratulations,” said Grace, “you are now a level three Occlumens.”

Despite everything going on in his life, Harry genuinely beamed at her. He could not remember the last time he had smiled in such a way, and Grace was unsure if she had ever seen the boy who sat before her smile in a way nearly as genuine or as pure as this. It was by far the happiest she could ever remember seeing him.

“Thank you.” It was an odd thought, but he realized he might have honestly thanked Grace more than any other person alive. Possibly more than any combination of living people, so long as obligatory, insincere apologies were not counted in that total.

“My pleasure,” said Grace with a smile. “I’m just happy you’re still progressing so fast with everything going on. I was worried it would be a distraction.”

“No, it all just means I need to be better.”

Grace gave him an approving look. “That’s the attitude I hoped you would have, but you would be shocked at how many people fold in a situation like the one we’re in.”

“Then they shouldn’t be mentally weak.” It was blunt and clinical, but it was Harry’s honest opinion. If he could still push forward after everything he had been through in his life, he saw no reason why others couldn’t match his feat.

Grace nodded. “I agree, but plenty don’t.”

Harry looked very uncaring. “That’s their problem.” He seemed to collect his thoughts before asking his next question. More precisely, he was readying himself for what may well turn out to be an influx of new information. “So, what’s on the table for stage three?”

Grace straightened, a telltale sign that a lecture was on the way. 

“As you know, stage two of Occlumency focused on the building of rudimentary Occlumency shields. Or, more accurately and less cliched — rudimentary Occlumency reflexes. Stage three focuses on solidifying those reflexes. By the end of stage three, your Occlumency will hold against all but the most skilled in Legilimency. They won’t be infallible, but no novice or even intermediate Legilimens would be breaching your mind. It would take somebody who was exceptionally skilled to do so.”

That certainly sounded appealing, though Harry dreaded how much time it would inevitably take. “And what about subskills?”

“They are… a lot more complicated in level three. As you have probably worked out, stage two subskills were just augmenting your mind.” He nodded. “The stage three subskills focus more on expanding your mind and allowing it to do things it shouldn’t technically be able to do.” Harry’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “I think that’s a discussion for another time, though,” Grace said with a smile, watching amusedly as her young protege deflated in front of her very eyes. “You’re already tired and the last thing I need is to add to that. I doubt you’ll be cramming for exams, but I do have a feeling you’re still going to try and do something productive before the night is over.”

Harry was going to read up more on wards from a book he’d taken when infiltrating the Restricted Section, so productive was certainly one way of saying it.

“I’ll let you get on your way then,” said Grace. “I’ll see you on Sunday, as always.”

_**Minutes earlier, in the Slytherin common room...** _

Charlotte burst through the entrance to the Slytherin common room breathing heavily, her heart in her throat, only to freeze at once.

She had snuck off to the library to acquire a book for exam prep. On the way back, spells had suddenly began shooting past her. She had turned, only to find shadowy figures pursuing her. She had debated fighting for all of three seconds, then one of them had fired off three curses she had never even seen before, and she suddenly thought that might not be in her best interests.

She had done all in her power to lose them, but nothing had worked. They had never drawn terribly close, but their shadows had loomed on the outskirts of her sight, imposing and sinister as they marched forever behind her, not falling for any evasions she might have come up with. 

She had been sure that when she returned to the Slytherin common room, she would have been safe. The usual crowd of people would have naturally afforded her a certain degree of protection.

But there were no people in the Slytherin common room.

Well, none that were awake, anyway.

All figures present were slumped against their seats, very obviously asleep and looking completely and totally out of it. Charlotte intuitively knew they had been dosed with something — a sleeping draught, most likely. 

“In a hurry, Weitts?”

Or perhaps not all the figures were asleep.

One rose from the lounge often occupied by her sister, and it took Charlotte a moment to recognize him. He was slim and pale with dark, intense eyes and slicked black hair. A prefect’s badge gleamed ominously in the ghostly light of the common room, and there was something unhinged behind his eyes. Something reminiscent of what she had seen in Mulciber’s expression moments before he had tried to maim her with that damned, cursed blade.

“S-Selwyn?” she stuttered, hating how her voice faltered and nearly failed her. “What’s going on?” Her eyes widened. “YOU! You’re the Heir of Slytherin?”

Selwyn laughed. It was more of a cackle than anything, but he seemed to take great amusement in the remark. “Me? The Heir of Slytherin? I hate to break it to you, Weitts, but more than one person can be plotting at Hogwarts at the same time. I have no love for mudbloods, but I’m certainly not going to waste a year of my life trying to off a few of them.” He sneered distastefully. “And — as much as my family might not get along with the Neutrals — making a Founding Twelve Family’s heiress disappear wouldn’t exactly be my style.”

Oh… oh, shit!

“Then you’re the one who helped Mulciber and Jugson! The one who stunned me from behind!”

“Now you’re getting somewhere,” Selwyn drawled lazily, withdrawing a long, dark wand from the sleeve of his robes. 

“But… why? I haven’t done anything to you or your friends!”

“Oh, it has little to do with you, Weitts. Much as you might believe otherwise, not everything revolves around you. I find your disgusting display of overconfidence to be utterly pathetic and I think you are a jumped up brat with delusions of grandeur, but I don’t care about you, really. You just so happened to be related to somebody who I very much care about, and friends with another.”

“My sister and…”

“Potter!” snarled Selwyn. “I would never have cared, but I owe him for the dragon bullshit last year. That was the last time I’ll be letting anybody else come up with a plan. That didn’t just cost my family gold and a reputation, it cost me. It was supposed to be the year I got back at your sister.”

“Get back at my—”

“Did I stutter?” Selwyn snapped irritably, causing Charlotte to close her mouth suddenly and without further prompting. “She wasn’t the only one vying for the top spot when Yaxley left school. He was in charge here before your sister, before you ask any other stupid questions. Things were run tightly here when he was in charge. He didn’t let blood traitors run around as if they ran the house, let alone train them. I should have had the spot and I would have… had your sister not turned that bitch against me!”

“That—“

“Pax! We were friends, once. Very close friends… more than friends. Until she stabbed me in the back to flock to your sister like the pathetic little sheep she is.” Charlotte’s mouth dried. This was not good. “She took something from me, then led me into a trap and ruined my reputation in this house. It’s taken two years to build it back up, and when I was close, Potter had to go and fucking ruin it again!” 

He truly did look unhinged and Charlotte would have run for it had she not known her other assailants were likely waiting outside the common room door to prevent her from doing just that.

“Now, I’m going to take something from your sister, lead her into a trap and fucking ruin her.” His eyes gleamed. “Oh, and Potter. A few of my other friends are off to deal with him as we speak. Not the ones who led you here, mind. They’ll be coming with us.”

He waited no longer.

Charlotte drew her own wand to defend herself but knew at once it would be of no use. Selwyn was even better than Harry at duelling, and she had yet to beat him so much as once.

She managed to evade him for a few moments, cutting a path towards the dormitories where she might hopefully find sanctuary. She had never seen a boy in the girl’s dorms, and she could sense the presence of wards, likely to ensure that continued. If she could just get to the dorms…

“CRUCIO!”

The spell passed straight through her shield as if it wasn’t there, and she shrieked in utter agony as the Cruciatus Curse washed over her. Her screams did not wake any in the room, and they were the last thing she heard before her vision went red, and then completely non-existent.

_**Meanwhile, elsewhere in the dungeons…** _

Harry was having a normal walk back to the Slytherin common room right up until the first curse soared past his face.

It appeared to have been fired from the shadows, but he didn’t stand still long enough to find out.

He rolled to the side at once, dodging two spells as he drew his wand and returned a volley of his own in the direction the magic had last emanated from. None found their mark, but three figures stepped out of the shadows, all of them recognizable to Harry, and all of them sixth and seventh years.

Shit!

The following exchange was brief, fast, and furious.

Harry sent a torrent of magic towards them, causing the three of them to scatter. He then focused his wand on the nearest of them and fired before turning to the next and doing likewise. He had no idea how to fight three opponents at once, so he just decided to fire on all of them.

A well-placed Bone-Breaker of his did find its mark, and his next planned move was to finally activate the necklace Grace had given him. Its activation required a spoken password he had chosen months earlier, and he hadn’t exactly had time to cease casting long enough to speak the password in question until now.

“Tormensia!”

The torture curse ripped through his shield and slammed into Harry’s back, sending him toppling to the floor, doing all he could to not scream. Ropes bound him faster than he could move. His wand was torn from his grasp and was firmly held by one of his assailants. 

And that was when Harry knew exactly who was behind this.

All three of these upper years shadowed Daniel Selwyn, the bastard who had hit him with the same torture curse he’d just been subjected to while he’d been bound last year. Selwyn had remembered that simple restraints hadn’t stopped Harry from escaping last year. The boy must have accurately assumed he could summon his wand, so long as it was lying loosely nearby.

That wasn’t going to be an option this year, Selwyn was furious with him for ruining his reputation and costing his family so much gold. Up until now, he had posed no threat, and Harry had been so distracted by everything else this year that he hadn’t even pondered a retaliatory strike.

Yet here it was, and he could do nothing but thrash helplessly as he felt himself levitated off the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I have two very exciting announcements:**
> 
> **The first is that I posted a holiday one-shot titled _A Happy Memory!_ It is only about 11k words, and I would greatly appreciate support and especially feedback on the story. **
> 
> **On an even more exciting note, I was fortunate enough to be a guest on a podcast this last week. The podcast’s host is a well-known fanfiction author who goes by the pen name TheBlack’sResurgence. You all might know him as the author of _Honour Thy Blood, Stepping Back, The Green in the Grey_ and, most recently, _A Flower for the Soul._**
> 
> **If you guys want to hear us discuss my work, his work, and a variety of other topics during our nearly three hour conversation, the podcast can be found on his P*T*E*N page. DESPITE BEING ON HIS P*T*E*N PAGE, IT IS COMPLETELY FREE TO LISTEN TO AND WILL COST YOU NO MONEY AT ALL.**
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> **I hope you guys enjoy it. I apologize for not having a studio-quality microphone or anything, but I think the podcast turned out well.**
> 
> **Aside from the self-promo, this is the last chapter of 2020. I would like to genuinely thank all of you who have kept up with this story over the course of the year. When I started planning this in 2019 and starting posting it in 2020, I never imagined the story would even scrape anything close to the numbers it has done, and the popularity it has accumulated continues to blow me away each and every day. I would just like all of you to know this has genuinely made a positive impact in my life, so I thank you all for that, and I hope you’re all ready for what’s to come in 2021.**
> 
> **Happy holidays!**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, January 2nd, 2021. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server, or read the next two chapters by signing up to my Patreon.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Ink613, Matilda, and Parhelion Solem for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	30. The Falling of Pieces, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**April 22, 1993  
The Dungeons  
10:11 PM** _

Harry tried to focus on his wand and will it to fly to him as he felt himself steadily floating down the corridor. Evidently, whoever had a hold of it was gripping it quite firmly. No matter how hard he tried to will it to him, it refused to obey.

If summoning the wand was impossible, breaking his bindings was another thing altogether. For all of three seconds, he debated activating the necklace from Grace, but he quickly dismissed that as well. It would do him no good. Even if they couldn’t see, he wasn’t going to be able to free himself. If anything, that might only give them a reason to stun him, which would make escaping all the more difficult.

He had no idea what Selwyn and his thugs wanted with him, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. The bastard had been all too willing to use that torture curse indiscriminately last year. He hadn’t seemed to have any compunctions in regards to doing completely immoral things, and that fact did not bode well for Harry, especially when his arrival wherever he was being taken seemed imminent.

Until the nearest torch bracket exploded.

For a moment, Harry thought it had been him who had done it. A bout of accidental magic that had caused the implement to explode outwards. He certainly felt the build-up of restrained energy and the way it longed to lash out. It would have, but he forcefully corralled his emotions using Occlumency. His mind was, despite the terror pressing against his shields that he was very slowly allowing to leak through, mostly at ease. It was in a controlled enough state, at least, that magic was not going to be cast by him unless he clearly intended for it to happen. 

And he certainly had not intended for the torch bracket to explode.

The torch was blown apart with it, and the fire that had been contained within it shot out in all directions before, right in front of Harry’s eyes, it swelled and swirled into a flaming tornado the likes of which he most certainly was not capable of conjuring.

The goons had dropped him now. One of them had fired a torrent of water towards the flaming cyclone, but the fire had engulfed it and still surged forwards. Two of them ran for it, leaving the third behind, who they had been helping along up to that point. He was the one with the broken leg, courtesy of Harry’s well-aimed Bone-Breaker from the initial confrontation.

They didn’t make it far. 

Tendrils of fire shot outwards from the cyclone, transforming into ropes not unlike the ones that bound Harry as they looped around the retreating assailants. Both of them fell quickly, and the fire behind Harry was extinguished all at once. A relief it was, too, for it had drawn rather close to him. Not quite enough to be a problem, but enough that he was pretty sure some of the hair on his arms had been burnt straight off. 

When the fire disappeared, so did his ropes. Harry let out a shaky, relieved breath as he clambered to his feet. It was a mark of how far his Occlumency had come that he was not reduced to a shaking mess like had been the case last year with the dragon incident. He was allowing all of the irrational feelings to seep through, just at the slowest possible rate he could get away with.

Before him stood a familiar figure in Slytherin robes, one with a gleaming badge upon her chest and a murderous look in her enchanting eyes. “What happened?” Grace asked without preamble, stepping forward and resting both hands on his shoulders, looking him over critically. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m… fine,” said Harry. “I wasn’t hit with anything long-lasting. I was jumped a ways back. I tried to duel but couldn’t hold them off. I dropped one of them with a Bone-Breaker and was going to activate the necklace, but I didn’t have enough time to stop casting.”

“Any particular motive for them attacking you?”

Harry bit his lip. “I… don’t think it was their idea.”

“Who?” It was obvious Grace knew that Harry at least suspected someone, and all subtlety was gone. She was officially done wasting time. 

Apparently, Grace’s facade melted the second somebody she cared for was attacked. She was rather intimidating like this, and Harry was relieved she was on his side. He had no idea what he had done to invoke this strong of a protective reaction from her, but those were thoughts best had during much less serious occasions.

“Selwyn, I think. I think these are friends of his, and he would have a reason to go after me. He was… involved in the dragon incident last year.”

“Fuck,” hissed Grace, striding past the fallen figures without a word, walking at a pace brisker than Harry had ever seen her walk before as she withdrew her wand. “Walk with me,” she commanded.

“Don’t you want to avoid—”

“Not the time, Harry. I would rather reveal a not-so-important secret than have you get jumped by Selwyn. Something about this seems… wrong. Like there’s more. One strike isn’t his style. Especially since he wasn’t even here to do it.”

That was when Harry came to an epiphany. “Oh,” he said quietly, “fuck.”

“What?”

“Charlotte.”

Grace’s stride lengthened as the grip she had on her wand became vice-like. “If he touched her—”

“I never even suspected Selwyn,” Harry said dazedly. “I didn’t think he would have had any reason to attack Charlotte. I was more worried about the younger years.”

“Selwyn and I have history. I had assumed he would keep my sister out of it.”

They were coming up on the common room entrance now, and Grace practically spat the password. She ordered Harry behind her as she first stepped through the passage, ready to cast a defensive spell at the first sign of an attack or ambush.

It never came.

What did come was a sight that immediately told both Grace and Harry that they had been too late to prevent what they most feared.

Bodies were splayed out on the furniture dotted all around the room. With the ghostly green light projected in through the black lake outside, it looked like the setting of a poorly funded horror movie.

“Accio Charlotte!” spat Grace, whirling all around the room to get a look at her sister.

Nothing happened.

Grace’s eyes practically shot sparks as she wove her wand through the air in intricate, complex patterns. Nothing seemed to happen, which actually appeared to satisfy her immensely. 

“There doesn’t seem to be any wards in place that weren’t here before and as far as I can tell, we’re the only two people in the room who are awake. Let’s go look around. You take this side of the common room, I’ll take the other. If you spot anything out of the ordinary, call for me. An ambush still isn’t impossible.”

“Shouldn’t one of us watch the entrance?”

Grace spun on her heel and slashed her wand towards the stone wall that admitted any who spoke the password entrance to the common room.

“Arcteclausa!”

Pure black energy leapt from Grace’s wand and slammed into the offending stone with the impact of a lightning strike. A barrier of the same energy seemed to rise around the wall, and Grace nodded in satisfaction. “Unless a Curse Breaker — or an extremely talented Auror — shows up, that ward is not getting bypassed.”

“I am taking it that is very illegal and that you won’t be teaching it to me.”

Grace took the time to physically roll her eyes as she marched to the other end of the common room. “Seeing as I didn’t admonish you for using a Bone-Breaker, I would have thought my stance on illegal magic to be fairly obvious.”

She had a point.

They searched for only a minute before Harry found what they were looking for and signalled for Grace to join him. It was a simple piece of parchment on the lounge… but atop it was a wand that looked eerily similar to Harry’s. Similar enough that an odd chill ran down his spine.

“Bastard,” hissed Grace, practically vibrating with fury as she waved her wand over the parchment several times. Seemingly satisfied it wasn’t cursed, she picked it up and read it aloud. For however good Harry’s Occlumency might have been, Grace’s was much better. In her position, there was no way he could have read that note without lashing out at something nearby.

Grace’s voice did not so much as tremble.

“You took something of mine and used it to ruin me. Now, I’ve taken something of yours, and it’s going to ruin you. Meet me in the abandoned classroom I’ve specified below. Instructions on how to get there are all written out for you. If you want your sister and Potter, you’ll show up. My friends and I have cast tripwire wards on the professor’s doors, so I’ll know if you go looking for them. 

Come fast, Weitts. It’s a symbolic night according to the lunar calendar. One where virgin goddesses were once said to be at their strongest.”

Grace spun on her heel at once and withdrew her wand, clearly intent on marching straight down to the classroom and duelling Selwyn and his friends, no matter how many of them were present. For however cold and logical a person was, all logic could sometimes slip away when faced with a particularly perilous situation. Especially ones that pertained directly to those who you held most dear.

“Grace, no,” said Harry, grabbing her arm and doing his best to prevent her from going any further. “It’s a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap. And I will happily walk into a trap if it means getting my sister away from that sadist.”

“You don’t get it, Grace. They’ll be waiting for you, and they’re not going to let Charlotte go. This way, they’ll only have both of you, which is no good to anyone.”

He could tell she wanted to bite his head off, but her voice still sounded perfectly modulated, another mark of her impeccable self-control. “What do you propose then?”

Harry’s visage became stony. “Well, he’s expecting his friends to find me and bring me to him. That’s certainly a start, but I’m not entirely sure what good I’ll be against Merlin only knows how many upper years.” 

A sound from nearby caught both of their attention. Several students were starting to unsteadily awaken from their slumber, and Harry suddenly realized the common room was no longer a place where they could discuss this. Obviously, Grace realized it too, for she took a vice-like grip on Harry’s arm and led him down the passageway leading to the boy’s dormitory. For a moment, he expected her to lead him into his own dorm. Perhaps as Head Girl, she was permitted access despite the difference in genders.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she led him to the end of the hall, where they stopped in front of the serpentine carving in the wall. “Time to put that secret room of yours to use, I think,” she said, causing Harry to go wide-eyed. When he showed obvious signs of hesitation, Grace audibly sighed. “Harry, hiss at the damn wall. I know you can talk to snakes and we don’t have time for this.”

“You… WHAT?!”

“I know you sent the snake to frame Malfoy at the gala during your first year. You had a motive and I saw you leave the ballroom not long before it happened. Serpensortia doesn’t work as it did there. I know Malfoy didn’t conjure it, yet the snake was docile to him. That should have been impossible unless the caster was a Parselmouth. You also hesitated earlier this year in a duel when I conjured a snake, and you have access to a mysterious room that even I can’t figure out how to get into. When your brother hissed at the snake during the Duelling Club, it only confirmed my theory.” 

She seemed completely unfazed at the look of absolute awe that marred Harry’s features. 

“Now, hiss at the damn wall and open the door. We need a plan, fast. I am not leaving my sister alone with that monster any longer than I have to.

With resigned reluctance, Harry turned to the wall. “Open.”

The wall slid aside.

_**Sometime later, deeper in the dungeons…** _

Grace felt the wards before she reached the door. She debated working around them for only a second before rejecting the idea. Taking down or working around the wards would take time. Time was a luxury she had none of. With a final glance over her shoulder at what appeared to be thin air, she slashed her wand at the door, blowing it inwards and off of its hinges. There were privacy wards cast all over the corridor. She wasn’t worried about waking anyone.

The door served as a shield, blocking the volley of spells that impacted against it, though it was little more than dust within seconds of absorbing the initial spellfire. Birds flew from the end of Grace’s wand, transforming into various beasts and weapons as they neared their foes. Selwyn and Flint vaporized all of them with torrents of fire as the other three seventh years fired curses towards Grace. 

She evaded and tried to advance, which was when the next ward triggered.

Grace had just enough time to spot Charlotte — bound helplessly in ropes and hanging in a relative state of undress from the ceiling — before she let out a scream as agony lanced up her body in ways she had never known before. 

This had not been part of the plan. 

Charlotte would have screamed too had she not been bound and gagged, but she thrashed around helplessly nevertheless.

Selwyn stepped forward, wand in hand and a triumphant expression on his face. “A wonder what a drop of your sister’s blood did when I tied it with some wards,” he noted. “It would have worked even better if it was yours, obviously, but it was close enough.” Selwyn raised his wand with a malicious gleam in his eye. “Now, to tie you up before the show begins.”

A very different show then began.

The room was instantly dark. All light seemed to be snuffed out in but a second, and Selwyn, Flint, Macnair, Jugson and Rowle were suddenly scrambling to find left from right. Several of them tried to light their wands. Flint even tried to burn the darkness away. None of their attempts succeeded.

And then the hissing started.

It first came from a place near the door and was then answered all around the room. It sounded as though an army of snakes had been let into the room. Probably because that was exactly what had happened, as well as a few that had been silently conjured after so many months of practice with non-verbal spell casting.

All at once, they struck.

The five assailants’ screams filled the room, only adding to the sinister cacophony of hissing as serpents of varying species attacked with vigour, intent on tearing them all to shreds on behalf of their master. The hissing and screaming came from everywhere, reverberating off the walls as the snakes and their master hissed back and forth and their prey cried out in panic. Some of those present thought the Heir of Slytherin had intervened. Even more so when the sound of bodies hitting the floor was suddenly present.

“EKDIKĒSIS PHLOX!”

Suddenly, there was light in the room and it was everywhere. Not a normal light, but a blindingly bright green light that those present only realized to be some arcane form of fire when it started to do what the other spells had failed to. Slowly, it spread throughout the room, burning away the darkness and most of the snakes as it went until finally, the veil of blackness had been cleared and all could see the source of their problems.

Harry Potter, holding what was unmistakably one of the runestones used to set up the blood ward Grace was trapped in, standing dangerously near another.

Selwyn and Flint were the only two assailants left who were able to fight. The others had been taken down by Harry’s snakes, both purchased and conjured. 

There was only a heartbeat of silence before Harry threw the runestones at the far wall, thus breaking the array. The ward flashed but just managed to stay up.

Until Harry whirled and turned his wand on the nearest runestones, unleashing the most destructive blunt-force spell he knew. One he had learned not all that long ago.

“BOMBARDA!”

With its link to the wards already weakened, the targeted runestones exploded into rubble, and the entire ward collapsed along with it.

“No!” hissed Selwyn, who made to aim his wand at Harry.

Flint was faster, and the words he spoke shocked the entire room into silence.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

A jet of sickly green light leapt towards Harry, seeming eager and intent to end his life in one quick and decisive strike. Harry, with his back turned, couldn’t even see the light approaching, but he knew that incantation and he knew, with pure and utter terror, that he wouldn’t have enough time to dodge.

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!”

The air all around Harry blurred and visibly contorted, seeming to bend itself into a translucent barrier to stand against the otherwise unblockable evil of the Killing Curse. 

The curse slammed into the barrier. It tore through with an earth-shattering CRACK, but the barrier posed just enough resistance for Harry to roll out of the way, allowing the touch of death to miss him by mere inches.

Harry was in awe as he spun to see Grace back on her feet with a look in her eyes that promised complete and total warfare. 

She hadn’t exactly blocked the Killing Curse, but she had slowed it down. Harry immediately remembered that spell was the same one she had used against Flint during the first duel he had ever witnessed. He also noticed that, like on that occasion, using it seemed to have taken a lot out of her. Her breathing was mildly laboured but it did not at all take away from the intimidating aura that hung around her. Least of all when the very air around her seemed to crackle with energy as she raised her wand to oppose Selwyn. Harry brought his own up and turned in the direction of Flint, even though he worried it might not be a winnable fight.

They all struck in unison.

“BOMBARDA!”

“CRUCIO!”

“EKDIKĒSIS PHLOX!”

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!”

Harry’s and Flint’s spells met in mid-air. They seemed to both break apart on impact, sending a wave of heat emanating outwards from their point of collision. Harry lunged forward and struck next. He was much faster than Flint, so he managed to get a full, rapid chain of spells off before the older boy could do so much as move. Flint still didn’t fall, but a Gouging Curse did graze his shoulder in much the same way it had grazed Harry when Charlus had used it all those months ago at the duelling club. 

Flint snarled and countered, causing Harry to leap aside and conjure several serpents. He hissed, which caused Flint to freeze and gave the serpents time to lunge. Flint only just managed to burn them all away before more were on their way and curses to follow. Flint growled in frustration as he slashed his wand outwards. 

“IGNAM SAGITA!”

Flaming arrows sliced clean through the oncoming snakes as Flint lunged to the side to avoid Harry’s spellfire. He rolled, avoiding a follow-up volley and was back on his feet with a murderous glint in his dark eyes, ready to continue the duel he had vastly underestimated the difficulty of.

On the other side of the room, the very elements of the earth were locked in a battle for dominance as air and fire were set against each one in what appeared to be reckless hate.

Selwyn’s unnatural green fire was billowing furiously as it seemed to try and burn the very air around it. The air that was firmly under Grace’s control twisted and contorted, trying to entrap the fire, subdue its destructive nature, and circumvent its malevolent intentions.

Grace and Selwyn battled just as fiercely as their elements. Both of them, being high-level Occlumens — though Grace was higher — had divided their mind into several streams of thought, each with the efficiency of a completely focused mind. 

For Selwyn, it was two streams of thought working coherently. One on duelling Grace, the other on maintaining control over the Greek Fire he had conjured. Grace had twice the amount of thought streams working simultaneously. One focused on duelling Selwyn, one struggled to maintain the grasp she had on the very air around them, one intently focused on Harry’s duel against Flint — intent on making a save if necessary — and another focused on suppressing the pain she still suffered from as a result of the rather clever blood ward Selwyn had put together.

Grace batted Selwyn’s Gouging Curse back towards him. This came as a shock to the sixth year. Grace could hardly blame him. People capable of reliably deflecting a spell of such nature were very few. 

His hesitation gave her just long enough for a more elaborate wand movement. A whip of fire sprang from her wand and she lashed it towards Selwyn. With a desperate slash, he managed to sever it, sending fire cascading down all around them. His left trouser caught ablaze and he screamed and staggered.

That turned out to be his ultimate mistake.

His attention had slipped just long enough to lose control of his Greek Fire and allow Grace to completely envelop it in layers of air too thick for the flames to incinerate. With a monumental effort, the fire began to compress and compress, until…

_BOOM!_

Grace bent the air around the explosion to lessen its effect, but the fire still sprayed here and there around the room, even if it was quickly snuffed out. The impact sent Selwyn sailing through the air and slamming hard against the wall, slumping to the floor in an unconscious heap.

With a deep sigh, Grace finally released her control over the air and turned to the other duel that was still ongoing.

Harry realized he was going to lose the duel several rapid exchanges after Flint had summoned flaming arrows. His first victory over Cassius had now come months ago. Harry could beat the talented fifth year just as often as Cassius could beat him, nowadays. He suspected Cassius could beat a large number of the sixth years, too, but Flint was a seventh year and a damn talented one, at that. 

He had been mocked for scoring low in his classes during Harry’s first year. Apparently, when he had decided to resign as Quidditch captain, he really had put the extra time to good use. Not that he had ever been anything but a talented duellist. The one class Flint had never struggled in was Defence Against the Dark Arts. During their duel, Harry suspected Flint had never lacked talent in any of the others either. His focus had just been on other things.

That was all very unfortunate for Harry.

By the time an explosion of fire rocked the very floor he stood on, Harry was banged up. He had taken a Bludgeoner to the ribs and only just managed to not go down. He had also been hit by several Cutting Curses and was bleeding from his arm, leg and cheek. 

Harry dodged two spells fired in quick succession by Flint and batted away a third. 

“IAPETUS!”

To his astonishment, his spell flew straight towards Flint and struck him square in the chest…

And did absolutely nothing, for that was not the real Marcus Flint.

The real Marcus Flint had cast the Doppelgänger Defence Charm just as Harry’s attention had been mildly subverted by the explosion of fire. The real Marcus Flint was standing behind him.

“SOMNIUM EXTERII!”

Harry wanted to scream as the Trauma Curse slammed into him. He wanted to tear the skin from his body, he wanted to rip his eyes from their sockets, he wanted to curl up in a fetal position and never get up.

But he did none of these things.

He did the last thing Marcus Flint, who had relaxed his stance after what he believed to be his victory, expected him to do.

He occluded harder than he ever had before. With every fibre of his being, he forced his mind clear and ruthlessly crushed every single one of those feelings before spinning on his heel and slashing his wand towards the very surprised-looking Marcus Flint, whose eyes were wide with complete and total disbelief. In contrast, Harry’s seemed to be glowing out of his head, yet there was a dead sort of look behind them as a result of Flint’s last spell. The sight of somebody who had seen and felt far too much.

“OZIO FRACTO!”

The spell struck Flint in the sternum and he let out a horrible scream before collapsing to his knees. Before any more could come of it, a jet of red light hit him in the side of the head and he slumped to the floor. 

Grace marched towards Harry with a blazing look in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

He nodded slowly. “For now,” he answered hollowly.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re occluding at maximum capacity right now, aren’t you?” He nodded. She sighed deeply. “You are coming with me and Charlotte.”

“Isn’t… that going to be a fairly personal—”

“I would rather you hear some things you shouldn’t than leave you alone after being hit with a full power Trauma Curse at point-blank range.” Grace gave him a hard, defiant stare. “Do you know what else that curse is called, Harry?” He shook his head and began to protest. “The Suicide Curse.” Harry quickly shut his mouth. “You are going to come with the two of us and I am going to make sure that neither you or Charlotte do anything stupid tonight.”

He did not dare argue any further. Especially not after he watched Grace cutting the word ‘Rapist’ into each of their assailants’ chests before levitating them out of the room.

_**Later that night…** _

It turned out there was a designated suite of sorts for Head Boys and Girls. Seeing as Slytherin only housed a Head Girl this year, there was a fair bit of room in the spacious suite-like place Grace led Harry and Charlotte to. The latter had been painstakingly quiet for the duration of their walk back to the Slytherin common room, and Harry could see her shoulders shake every so often.

Grace had obviously noticed it too, for she simply held Charlotte for some time on her bed, which was very awkward for Harry to look in on, especially when the younger Weitts sister finally let go of the vice-like grip she had held over her Occlumency and broke down in front of Harry for the first time.

It wasn’t something he was at all comfortable with, and he stood awkwardly off to the side while the two sisters talked and the emotionally-charged night continued. Harry tried not to hear most of what was said, but his ears were annoyingly sharp and every time he tried to retreat into his own thoughts, things went to hell very quickly. 

He heard about how Charlotte had spent the beginning portion of the year trying to prove how she was more than just Grace Weitts’s little sister. She had also apparently ascertained, or at least suspected, that Grace had asked Harry to watch over her. In her opinion, that only made her plan all the more necessary. To Charlotte, it had become about proving her worth to not just the house, but to her sister as well. 

She explained how her blatant facade of overconfidence had been a mechanism to bait younger students into attacking her with the goal of turning them back and earning respect. What she had not anticipated was Selwyn sponsoring Mulciber and Jugson’s efforts, and thereby falling into a rather dangerous game. The absolute last thing she had expected was for Selwyn to personally involve himself in the matter, though Grace heavily took the blame for that, sounding more dejected than Harry had ever heard her.

Charlotte confessed to Grace all she had confessed to Harry back in the hospital wing in November, and Grace listened with obvious sadness. In the end, Charlotte had fallen asleep, finally succumbing to emotion. Grace laid her on the bed with obvious sadness before glancing up towards Harry, gesturing for him to sit on the bed across from her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as he hollowly took the seat.

He shrugged. He felt no pain; she had healed his cuts and the blunt impact of the Bludgeoner as soon as they had returned. She had also snuck into the hospital wing and swiped a potion meant to relieve the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse for Charlotte.

“This is the part where you start letting it leak through,” Grace prompted when Harry didn’t answer.

He sighed and very slowly allowed the barest traces of the emotions brought on by the Trauma Curse to seep into his psyche. 

He recoiled at once; it was not a pleasant experience. 

Grace gave him an inquisitive look, but Harry only shook his head. “I’ll manage,” he said a bit dully. Grace looked skeptical, but Harry quickly switched the topic of conversation. “So, Selwyn, Flint, Macnair, Jugson and Rowle will know I’m a Parselmouth now.”

“They will, but they won’t tell a soul.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure of that?” 

Grace had left them just outside Snape’s door before setting off a firework in the hall and vanishing with the help of the Disillusionment Charm. By the time she had snuck into the hospital wing soon after, they had all been laying in beds and seemed to have been attended to.

“They used Unforgivables, Harry. The use of any of those spells against a fellow human being is enough for a life sentence in Azkaban. If they revealed you as a Parselmouth, they know that we would reveal they used Unforgivables. We have three witnesses and if I brought up the fact I nicked the Cruciatus relief potion in combination with Pomfrey doubtlessly realizing she was one short, it would be enough evidence for a memory to be used in court. My family has more than enough money to fund the verification process and if they revealed that you were a Parselmouth as early as tomorrow, their wands wouldn’t stand up against Priori Incantato.”

That made a stunning amount of logical sense. Though, he supposed it really shouldn’t have been stunning at all. Grace was, if nothing else, logical and cynical to a fault.

“Why are we just letting them get away with it, then? Shouldn’t we put those memories forward?” Grace shook her head, and Harry looked incredulously back at her. “What do you mean?” he asked in a hissing whisper. “You know what those bastards were going to—“

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Harry,” Grace explained. She seemed to deflate as she said it, but she continued speaking under Harry’s inquisitive stare. “It’s not a good idea. It’s the same reason they can’t speak about you being a Parselmouth, just in reverse. They would be punished more harshly than any of us, but it would be mutually assured destruction. If we moved against them legally, they would first let the world know what you’re a Parselmouth, which is something I’m sure you don’t want.” 

Harry was beginning to see where this was going.

“What my sister did to the younger Jugson and the Macnair Heir would also almost definitely be made public. Using Legilimency like that… it’s not exactly legal. It isn’t technically illegal to know Legilimency, but it is illegal to teach it and to use it in any way close to what Charlotte did. That wouldn’t be something that just blew over. Especially because she didn’t use it in self-defence.”

That was extremely unfortunate. “So we’re just at a stalemate then?” asked Harry. “They can’t reveal anything without it blowing up in their faces, but neither can we?” Grace nodded. 

He briefly considered the potion that he had swiped after Charlotte had been attacked by Mulciber and Jugson. If it did what they had apparently claimed, it could potentially wipe the identities of anyone from the drinker’s minds, even though they would remember the act itself. The problem was that, if they were to be believed, Jugson and Mulciber had already added their blood to the potion. That meant it would only wipe them from the memories of the drinker. Seeing as no Mulciber had been present and the only Jugson there had been the older of the two at Hogwarts, that wouldn’t exactly do any good.

They really were stuck at a stalemate. Harry was certain Selwyn would never trouble him again, not even next year. The consequences of doing so would be far too dire, but it wasn’t enough. That bastard deserved so much worse. Flint too — the bastard had tried to use a Killing Curse, for Merlin’s sake. He was graduating from Hogwarts in under two month’s time, but it still didn’t change the fact Harry thought he could burn in hell.

This whole situation was complete and total bullshit!

He had, minutes earlier, planned to ask Grace about the spell she had used to partially subvert the Killing Curse. Now, he was too frustrated to even bother.

His thoughts were interrupted when a light hissing made itself known. He knew where it had come from at once. A few of the snakes had survived the duel in the abandoned classroom. One of the smaller, stealthier ones had slithered up his sleeve before his exit. Grace seemed to realize what was going on, for she nodded, prompting him to let it out and listen to what it had to say.

His blood ran cold.

**“I had not the time to tell you before tonight, but I was in the common room of your kin and heard something of use.”**

**“What was it?”** Harry hissed back urgently.

Even the snake seemed to hesitate. **“He received a message. A message from this Heir of Slytherin.”**

_**April 23, 1993  
The Speaker’s Den  
9:34 PM** _

“So it’s not the Heir themselves attacking students, and there are two targets left before… something happens,” Blaise said thoughtfully upon Harry concluding his summary of what the snake had told him the night before. A night during which he had gotten no sleep. 

There were still some very minor, lingering effects of the Trauma Curse, but they were mostly gone and not overly troubling by this point. Without the use of Occlumency, they would have been much more problematic.

“No,” said Harry. “It actually does seem to be this monster of Slytherin. Whatever it is, those spiders obviously fear it.”

They now knew all about the monstrous spiders and what they had said to Charlus.

Well, they had a general idea.

When Harry had brought up the fact they needed to work out what Charlus had learned, Blaise had suggested the idea of watching out for Charlus’s mail. It would likely arrive at breakfast, but it wouldn’t be impossible to copy the letter’s contents onto another piece of parchment, just very difficult.

That was when Ares had presented an even better option.

A Switching Spell.

They would wait for Charlus’s mail to arrive and they would have letters drafted that the Boy-Who-Lived possibly could have received. Then, just as his owl set down the letter, they would cast a Switching Spell. Harry was the best out of all of them, so it had been him who had been tasked with learning the bit of fourth-year Transfiguration. It hadn’t actually been all that difficult, and they had been subtly doing it over several days until, finally, they struck gold.

A reply letter from Dumbledore. One reflecting on what Charlus had told him about the spiders suggesting the monster was a mortal enemy. Dumbledore hadn’t seemed to know what that enemy was, exactly, but he was apparently following a hunch and would write back to Charlus.

It had been the breakthrough they had needed.

“Acromantulas,” said Ares. “They’re called acromantulas.”

It had now been several months since Ares’s inclusion into their small group of friends. She had become generally less cold over those past few months, but only in private.

“Can you think of anything an acromantula would be afraid of?” asked Harry.

Ares thought for a moment but shook her head, obviously frustrated. “Not another creature, no. I don’t imagine they would like fire much, but I have a feeling whatever we’re dealing with doesn’t go around spouting fire.”

“It wouldn’t exactly be subtle,” Blaise agreed. “Whatever this thing is, it has a way of moving around undetected and can strike without a trace or a fight.”

“It might also petrify its victims,” Harry reminded. “Remember, Mrs. Norris was attacked on Samhain. There’s a good chance that whatever attacked her is what ended up attacking all of the others.”

“Well that’s a start, isn’t it?” asked Tracey hopefully.

Ares frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well, we know where Mrs. Norris was attacked. Harry also thinks the twins were attacked there, right?”

“I’m almost sure of it,” His hand drifted slowly towards the Marauder’s Map in his pocket. 

As of yet, that was a secret he had not shared with his friends, though he acknowledged that fact might need to change soon. It just didn’t seem like the time to give out information of that sort. Not because he didn’t trust them, but the information could be taken. He supposed he could tell them in the chamber and impose the Sanction but even then, the information could be acted on.

It was probably just paranoia, but Harry thought that, given the current set of circumstances, he was entitled to being a little bit paranoid.

“Well,” said Tracey, “if we know at least one, and maybe two attacks happened there, why don’t we investigate the scene? If two happened there, that seems like an odd coincidence. Even if only one happened there, it’s a start.”

“There are the Aurors to contend with,” Ares pointed out. “They go by there every so often, I would imagine. It wouldn’t make sense for them not to based on what you just said.”

“I… sort of have their general patrol schedule memorized,” Harry said a bit bashfully.

“Of course you do,” sighed Blaise with a roll of his eyes. “I really do resent that memory of yours, but I suppose this once, if it’s going to be useful, I’ll let it slide.”

“How very generous of you,” Harry said dryly.

Blaise’s lips twitched. “Of course, my friend. I am a gentleman and a scholar, after all.”

“It’s a start,” said Ares, cutting across the two of them in much the same way Daphne had often done in the past. That thought made Harry’s heartstrings tug. “We can start investigating that general area. I’m not sure if we should ever go one at a time, though. If whatever is attacking students is relying on stealth, it will be harder to get the jump on and take out two people before at least one of them can react.”

They all nodded. None of them could fault the logic.

It was, as Ares had said, a start.

_**May 15, 1993  
An Abandoned Classroom   
9:26 PM** _

Harry dodged Flora’s Blinding Curse and countered with mesmerizing speed and ruthless efficiency. She conjured a wall of stone instead of shielding, and Harry seized the tactical error after ten long minutes of duelling.

“BOMBARDA!”

It was the first time he had ever used the Blasting Curse in the presence of his four older training partners, so Flora was suitably taken aback when the wall of stone was blasted to smithereens and Harry banished enough of the debris back at her to occupy her wand while he snuck a wordless Expelliarmus in behind it. Non-verbal casting was another trick he had held off showing until now.

Until tonight, he had never beaten Flora. Whether he needed the element of surprise or not, he had been determined to change that. 

And Merlin, did it feel good to change that. One small victory in a year of what felt like constant defeats.

Hestia was significantly more skillful than Flora, so he doubted he would be beating her this year. Calypso wasn’t even in the realm of possibility, but he was still making significant progress.

He just hoped it would be enough when… whatever he could just feel was going to happen came to pass.

_**May 23, 1993  
The Restricted Section  
11:58 PM** _

Charlus sighed in defeat for… he wasn’t sure how many nights in a row.

Ever since the incident with the Heir’s message, he had been possessed by a sense of urgency. Every single night since — being accompanied by Hermione on most of them — he snuck into the Restricted Section under his invisibility cloak and tried to find anything he could about what could possibly be happening to those who went missing.

He was sure that if anywhere in the school housed the information, it would be the Restricted Section. Nothing this evil could be held anywhere else, in his opinion.

Yet the search had thus far been fruitless.

Worse still, Charlus could not help but feel as if he was running out of time. As if something big was going to happen soon. Something big he would be unprepared for, and thus unable to stop.

It scared him more than anything else.

_**May 26, 1993  
Somewhere on the Outskirts of Greece  
8:44 PM** _

It had been a long two and a half months since Albus Dumbledore had simultaneously stepped down and been removed as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. During that time, he had travelled far and wide.

He had spent the entirety of the school year doing every bit of research he could on anything that could petrify its victims, yet could also move so stealthily around the school and possibly be commanded by a Parselmouth.

His research had yielded nothing.

If even he could not find the answers, that only meant one thing to Albus.

The answers weren’t meant to be found.

They were buried so deep in the recesses of history that none but the most determined and knowledgeable would be able to find them. Even then, they would never find anything at all if they did not look in the right places.

Albus knew where to look.

The most ancient of places were where witches and wizards had first learned to bend Chaos to their will. They were where much of magic as it was known today had been derived from. Much of what was done today with magic was simply less extreme cases of what magic was capable of doing on its own.

The ability to warp this force was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to humanity, but it provided Albus with a start.

He had known he would need to travel somewhere that was so deeply rooted in Chaos that it couldn’t be completely erased from its history.

The conclusion that Albus had come to was simple.

Whatever was happening at Hogwarts was undoubtedly a facet of Chaos Magic.

He had his suspicions now, after months of travel, but something didn’t line up. There was… a myth that fit most of his criteria but there was one, glaring hole in that theory.

One glaring hole that could potentially be patched. 

He wasn’t entirely sure.

For that, he would need to find somebody who knew more about Chaos Magic than he did.

And he could only think of one person who fit that description.

Well, three, really, but only one who would know about this kind of Chaos Magic and possibly be willing to answer him.

More specifically, the warping of Chaos Magic.

Now the game became one of patience once more while he waited for his ace in the hole to mature once more.

He would be of little use to him if he was still growing back his feathers, after all.

_**May 29, 1993  
The Great Hall   
8:42 AM** _

Harry hadn’t been worried by Cassius not appearing at breakfast that Saturday morning. His friend was a heavy sleeper at the best of times. It was not at all uncommon for him not to rise at this time of the morning.

He hadn’t been the least bit worried.

Until the letter arrived.

A simple letter, and one that, though Harry didn’t know it at the time, was identical to the one Charlus would receive hours later.

The letter had names with lines drawn straight through them

Except for one

_~~Cat  
Creevey   
Weasleys  
Greengrass  
Moon  
Warrington  
TBD~~ _

_One more piece left to fall_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The endgame is well and truly near now.**
> 
> **May 29th is the day the Chamber confrontation happened in canon, but it will happen a bit later here. I hope the large number of small time skips in the last few chapters hasn’t been too jarring. I know the pace has exponentially sped up, but that’s because I finally had all of my pieces on the board, even if you’re not seeing them all yet.**
> 
> **Before I sign off, if it isn’t obvious already, the basilisk works rather differently here than in canon. It is also much more obscure, hence why Dumbledore does not connect the dots immediately. That will all be explained soon. Canonically, it made no sense that it wasn’t figured out way earlier. I have a reason why that doesn’t happen. If it isn’t yet obvious.**
> 
> **Oh, and in regards to the other Slytherins. Selwyn isn’t exactly stable, if you can’t tell. Nor is Flint, and he will come up later. They are not your average upper years. Don’t think all upper year Slytherins would just threaten rape and throw around Killing Curses.**
> 
> **As always, follow, favourite and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, January 9th, 2020. Or you can join my Discord server and read it now, or read the next three chapters on my P*T*E*N page.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Fumble for their corrections/contributions this week.**
> 
> **A massive thank you is also extended to my first top-tier Patron, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, for her generous support on that platform! It genuinely does mean the absolute world to me!**


	31. The Falling of Pieces, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**May 29, 1993  
The Department of Mysteries  
12:30 PM** _

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, another consortium operated mostly of their own accord. At present, the body was in a state of mild disarray as they worked to piece together the mystery of exactly what was going on at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Six students have gone missing,” said Soul. His posture looked as though he might be eyeing his other counterparts with a look that made his statement seem all the more obvious, but his eyes and face were impossible to discern. “It’s fairly clear that this Heir of Slytherin is gathering ingredients for a ritual of sorts. Otherwise, I don’t see what they could be doing. It’s obvious they’re not targeting muggleborns, as only one of the students who vanished was anything but a pureblood. And it’s also evident they’re waiting for something before acting on what is likely their final plan. They’re planning to act when they’ve taken a seventh student.”

“That does seem likely,” Blood answered diplomatically. “The problem with this hypothesis is that it isn’t overly useful to us. To say the Heir is planning a ritual that requires seven bodies doesn’t exactly narrow things down. It could be a sacrificial ritual, or a blood ritual, or something completely different. Even within those branches, there are more rituals than we likely even know of.”

“It is impossible to discern what this Heir is planning to do with the bodies if we don’t know their end goal,” pointed out Mind. “Without an end goal, we simply don’t have enough information to make any reasonable assumptions.”

“We must act,” said Soul. “It doesn’t matter what ritual they’re planning. Any ritual that they’re optimizing via magical numbers that involve humans is trouble. No matter its nature, it’s something we can’t stand by and let happen.”

“I agree,” said Blood, “but the problem is acting. Acting without all of the necessary information would be foolish and could cost us dearly.”

“Which is why we don’t act immediately,” Mind put in reasonably. “We conduct more direct investigations into the matter and gain the knowledge of exactly what is going on at that school.”

“The problem is we can’t gain access to the school,” pointed out Records. “The Hogwarts charter is very specific. If any more than three occupying witches or wizards enter the castle, we will violate that charter. I think it’s probably a safe assumption to say the wards are, at least, somewhat tied to and governed by the charter. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I am personally uninterested in seeing what happens when the Hogwarts wards sense a violation of that nature.”

“The solution seems quite simple to me,” spoke up Saul Croaker — the only one in the vast room with a known name. None of the others knew the identities of who they were working with. 

“We’re all ears, Croaker.”

“We simply order the withdrawal of these Aurors and send our own teams of operatives into the castle. The Aurors have been in that castle for months and have been wholly unsuccessful. I think it time we have a crack at this fiasco, personally.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” said Soul, “but how exactly are you going to rescind and modify a decision made by the Minister himself?”

Croaker smiled thinly. “That’s quite easy, Soul. We might not have yet discerned how the Heir is making students disappear in the middle of the night, but I think it’s safe to assume nobody else has either. With that in mind, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to state that it’s the result of… hidden magics that only the Unspeakables are aware of.”

“There is no direct evidence that Chaos Magic is involved,” pointed out Records.

Croaker chuckled. “Ah, Records, your moral compass and obsession with order is endearing, if nothing else. We don’t need evidence. We are the Unspeakables and the opposition to this horrid monstrosity of magic. We need no proof. Not when the people we need to convince have next to no knowledge of what we will be speaking about.”

Very slowly, the very select few of the Department of Mysteries’ branch heads nodded in agreement. 

_**That night, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

For what was far from the first time this year, Harry had had a very long day. Most days this year had seemed to last forever, to Harry, but this had been one of the worst.

The Heir of Slytherin had not been bluffing.

Cassius had disappeared, making him the second of Harry’s friends to vanish. Harry was sure that wasn’t a coincidence, which, to him, meant the Heir had become aware of his meddling. Daphne had likely been targeted for political reasons — to cause great political unrest. That certainly wasn’t the case with Cassius. His family wasn’t important enough to cause that amount of distress in the magical world, so the Heir’s reasons for targeting him had to be on a lesser scale.

Harry had made significant progress over the past number of months, even if he worried he might not be able to unmask the culprit by the end of the school year. Time was ticking, after all. There was less than a month left until students would board the Hogwarts Express back to London. Regardless, he had come far. Not only learning of who the Heir was — if not who might be doing their bidding — but also making small steps towards figuring out what exactly was attacking students, as well as several other revelations. 

It stood to reason that if the Heir of Slytherin or whomever Emily was likely controlling had somehow become aware of any of that, they would be at least a little bit worried. Perhaps lashing out at Cassius was a warning of sorts to Harry and his group of friends. A warning that if they got too close, the Heir was more than willing to strike back.

He wasn’t entirely certain, but he knew then the disappearance of another of his friends had really ruined his day. It had not been quite as traumatic as when Daphne had vanished in the night, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Cassius was one of Harry’s best friends, and he filled a void that most of the others didn’t. He loved Daphne, Tracey, Charlotte and even Pansy, but it was different. 

Blaise and Cassius were friends in a different way. They acted in ways the others didn’t. They were the more jovial bunch when they allowed their facades to slip, and Harry enjoyed their company greatly. Cassius in particular was quite good at not being completely serious twenty-four-seven. It was a quality many of the others — Harry included, possibly even chief amongst them — lacked. It was often a breath of fresh air, and it had been snuffed out as though it were but a miniature flame stomped into quiet submission.

One way or the other, the Heir had made things personal once more, and Harry suspected their motivation was striking back at him and his friends specifically.

This led to a rather horrifying epiphany. 

There were things he needed to tell his friends.

Much as he valued privacy and security above most things, he could not allow any more of them to be hurt. To avoid that, there were things they needed to know. Weapons they could utilize. 

That night in the Speaker’s Den, Harry told them all about his ring and necklace. Blaise, Tracey and Charlotte had already known about the former — with Charlotte knowing about both articles of jewelry — but Ares and Pansy hadn’t. 

One thing that none of them had known about that Harry had revealed was the Marauder’s Map.

As of late, their group had taken to patrolling some of the more suspicious areas of the castle when they knew they could get away with it. In particular, the second floor, near the hospital and throughout the dungeons. 

Mrs. Norris — and the twins, most likely — had fallen on the second floor, Colin Creevey on his way to the hospital wing, and the dungeons… well, a great number of shady things happened in the dungeons. Harry knew this better than perhaps any other Hogwarts students who had attended the school in recent years. They were also dealing with an Heir of Slytherin, so it made a certain amount of logical sense for them to be operating out of the dungeons. At the very least, none of them would have been at all surprised if this person was partial towards the dungeons. Even if they couldn’t catch them in the act, any bit of suspicious activity would be appreciated. 

Anything for them to latch onto would be a thousand times better than what they had right now.

They needed a lead, and if finding that lead meant divulging information, then Harry was willing to do it.

There was very little he wouldn’t do to keep his friends safe. 

As the Sorting Hat had said almost two years prior, he would be loyal to a fault; just to a very select group of people. Truer words, at least in regards to Harry, had never been spoken.

And even if that wasn’t true, he was a very obsessive person.

Vengeful, too.

His entire being had been fixated and obsessed with the Heir of Slytherin as of late, and his vengeful wrath was bubbling and waiting to be unleashed.

As soon as they had a lead, he would strike.

He was willing to do just about anything to unmask the Heir of Slytherin.

_**May 30, 1993  
A Room in the Dungeons  
8:00 PM** _

Harry grimaced as Grace withdrew from his mind. Ever since progressing to stage three in Occlumency, her attacks had become mildly more subtle and a whole lot more potent. He was often left with splitting headaches after their sessions, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in some time. The worst part was that, as a result of the ongoing curfew, it wasn’t exactly as though he could sneak to the hospital wing and ask for a potion to relieve him of his discomfort. Hardly the end of the world, but certainly annoying.

A necessary evil though, and Harry was more than willing to put up with it if it meant improvement. By the end of stage three, it would be expected that his shields repel all but the most skillful practitioners of Legilimency. This was going to be a massive boon to his mental defences for obvious reasons. The problem with magic was that, as Emily had alluded to before, it was centred in balance. For Harry to add such a massive defensive tool to his steadily growing arsenal, he was going to need to put in a whole lot of work and deal with a considerable amount of discomfort.

“Your improvements are still on track,” said Grace, drawing Harry out of his philosophical reminiscences on the natural balance of magic. “Impressive considering… everything going on.”

“I’ve been distracted, but not in lessons. I’m usually pretty good at keeping my focus, even though it does get hard, at times.”

“Well, since you seem to actually enjoy being lectured on this sort of thing, care to learn about the first subskill that is now technically available to you in stage three?” Harry perked up and nodded swiftly. “I should warn you before I mention it that it is extremely useful, but this is not something you will be developing quickly. If you thought it was a task to master emotional suppression, and then even more so to use healthily, you’re not going to like how long this takes to learn. I would be impressed but not surprised if you managed it before Halloween.”

“What is it?”

“It’s most commonly referred to as thought streams,” said Grace. 

Harry blinked. “That’s it? But… that isn’t that special, is it? I can have multiple trains of thought going on at once if I try hard enough.”

Grace’s lips twitched. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Harry. By thought streams, I mean you are quite literally opening and utilizing a separate stream of thought to its fullest potential. This stream of thought can easily work independently of any others you have, or combine with others to increase the rate of efficiency with which you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing. The biggest difference is that every single stream of thought you open has access to the maximum amount of brainpower you can access on a normal basis. You’re essentially using a second brain. Not really, but it’s the easiest way to explain it.”

That swiftly silenced any notions Harry had about this being a somewhat mundane ability. That really should not have been possible at all. It was apparently as Grace had said. 

“I’m taking it there are risks with this, just like with emotional suppression?”

Grace’s eyes danced with something that rested somewhere on the spectrum between pride and amusement. “Now you’re learning. Anything like this has its drawbacks. Most people never learn to open even one additional thought stream. Of the few people who manage that, very few ever open more than one extra. After that… it’s scarcely heard of.”

“Hypothetically,” Harry began carefully, “how many thought streams could a person open?”

“It’s believed that seven would be the highest a human could open before the consequences became permanent and extremely damaging. The recordings of anybody opening more than five are almost unheard of. It’s theoretically impossible, but plenty of people have tried and driven themselves to experiencing horrible mental trauma. I would advise against ever opening more than five” She hesitated. “There was at least one wizard who claimed to have opened more than seven, but most people dismiss the claim immediately. The Unspeakables even released a paper on it decades ago. They debunked any claim he had and essentially proved it shouldn’t be at all possible.”

“Who was this wizard?” 

“Grindelwald,” said Grace. “He claimed to have opened twenty-one.”

Harry’s eyes practically bugged out. “T-twenty-one?! Wouldn’t that literally be using twenty-one times his normal brain capacity?”

“It would, but again, remember that none have ever supported this claim. The best magical minds of the age have all universally dismissed it as impossible and propaganda. It was something he said while at the height of his powers before he was defeated by Dumbledore. It was likely said to gain admiration from his followers, and to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies.”

Harry nodded slowly. It seemed utterly impossible and it was exactly the sort of thing he would have done in that position. He typically preferred half-truths to lies, but if you were going to lie, the best lies to tell were the ones that couldn’t be disproven. Whatever anyone thought of Grindelwald, it was likely the man had been a genius in the Mind Arts, even if this particular claim had been bollocks. He doubted anyone would have been able to breach his mind even if they had tried, and he had a sneaking suspicion none had ever dared. Not once he became feared across Europe and the wider wizarding world, at least.

“I had one more thing I wanted to talk to you about before we leave,” Grace said carefully. “Two things, I suppose. They’re sort of connected.”

“This is about Cassius, isn’t it?” 

“It is,” Grace admitted. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it. I just know this is the second person who is close to you that has gone missing. All I need is for you to look me in the eye and tell me that you’re okay. Or, at least, that you’re going to be okay.” She paused. “That and that you won’t do anything stupid.”

Harry knew what she was implying with the latter statement, and he would not rescind his efforts in hunting down the Heir of Slytherin. It wasn’t something he was willing to do. Grace’s statement was also vague enough that he could agree carefully and not violate his promise by doing just that.

“I’m not exactly okay,” he admitted, “but I promise I will be. And… I won’t do anything stupid. I won’t promise that nothing will be done, but anything I do will be done with extreme caution.”

Grace gave him a very piercing look. “Be careful, Harry,” she said simply. “I’ll be watching out for you, but I won’t intrude.”

He nodded thankfully; it was, realistically speaking, the best he could have hoped for.

_**At that same moment, in Gilderoy Lockhart’s office…** _

Charlus was thoroughly battered by the time he had finished his most recent mock duel with his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Lockhart did not facilitate mock duels often. He seemed largely of the opinion that, at Charlus’s current age and skill level, drills would most often suffice. On the rare occasions he did set up mock duels, he didn’t hold back. Gilderoy Lockhart did not do anything halfway.

“That will do for tonight, I think,” said Lockhart, glancing up towards the clock and noticing that the hour was steadily growing late. “Your improvements have been humbling to bear witness to, Charlus. I am very proud of how far you have come, and I look forward to seeing how far you can progress in the future.”

That sounded oddly formal to Charlus. Oddly final, even. He supposed Lockhart was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Something always happened to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. That was, if they made it the entire year, of course. This year, with danger seemingly looming around every shadowy corner, that seemed somehow even more inevitable.

Lockhart must have noticed Charlus’s internal pondering, for he smiled a very tired-looking smile. “The end of the year is coming fast, Charlus. With it, likely too, comes the end of my tenure at Hogwarts. I know this school has had many incompetent professors of Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I’m not one of them. I understand the curse on the position, even if I frankly have no idea how it came to be. I have no delusions that I will be teaching this subject next year.” His jaw set. “With the end of the year, my tenure here comes to the end of the line. The closing of my window to capture the Heir of Slytherin.”

Charlus perked up. “Do you have any leads, sir?”

“None,” admitted Lockhart, “which is why this is so pressing. I need to catch the Heir of Slytherin. I believe that things happen for a reason. It is my honest belief that I am here at this institution to capture this Heir. It’s the only goal I have left this year before I go out into the wider world once more and try my hand at larger, grander things.”

“What are you trying to say, Professor?”

“I’m trying to say that this will be the last lesson the two of us have, Charlus. Unless the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job miraculously disappears, which I believe unlikely. My efforts are divided, which clearly isn’t working. All of them need to be set on capturing the Heir of Slytherin. Anything less than my best effort isn’t going to cut it.

“Don’t look so down,” Lockhart continued. “Exams are right around the corner for you. I doubt you’ll struggle in my subject, and I’m sure none of the practical portions of the wanded subjects will trouble you much, either. But I’m sure it will still do you some good to focus your energy on the exams. The theoretical portions, in particular. Take it from me, Charlus. Being able to cast magic is a fantastic skill, let alone being able to do so more efficiently than those around you. But if you want to counter magic and truly work against those who would turn it against you, there is no tool more powerful than knowledge. Understanding magic and how it can be used against you is often the most important thing you can possibly learn.” 

He glanced up towards the clock once more. “And with those prophetic-sounding words of wisdom, and my best Dumbledore impression out of the way, I think it time we return you to the safety of your dormitory.”

_**May 30, 1993  
The Wizengamot Chambers  
11:54 AM** _

Crouch Sr. banged his gavel hard against the podium, demanding silence from all gathered parties. Some were fiercely arguing in favour of the motion that was finally about to be voted on, and others were shouting in complete and utter outrage at what they viewed as an atrocity — the likes of which the British Isles had not seen since the torture of the Longbottoms in early November of 1981.

Crouch Sr. was standing in as Chief Warlock, for the time being. Soon after the ousting of Albus Dumbledore as Hogwarts’ Headmaster, the man himself had asked for a temporary release from his duties as Chief Warlock to address some deeply personal concerns. None had objected, partially because the last thing the Wizengamot needed was the bad publicity currently associated with the no-longer Hogwarts Headmaster. Also because many of the gathered voters were more than happy to never see Dumbledore in the chamber again. Some for personal reasons, some for political reasons, and some for a large quantity of both.

“I demand order!” bellowed Crouch, finally cowing the hall into silence. “We will argue about this no longer! We have wasted time already. Why argue over something that will either pass or not depending on how we all vote?” Murmurs — many of them annoyed — filled the chamber, but they stayed at a relatively low level. “All in favour of the motion proposed here today?”

It was a very close vote. A quick glance would not suffice, and the votes had to be carefully counted.

Eventually, it was decided. 

The vote passed, if barely.

_**That night, in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

Emily Riddle paced back and forth in her acquired body, paying no mind to and hardly noticing the bound, helpless forms at the feet of the massive statue that dominated the Chamber of Secrets.

The time was drawing near.

In five days, the moon would be at its fullest. The full moon was symbolic of many things both magical and mythological. Its copious number of potential symbolic applications lent itself rather well to rituals. 

As did powerful, magical numbers.

Three and seven, in particular, were ostensibly linked to ritual magic. She had debated carrying out her plans after the Weasley twins’ capture. 

She had dismissed it just as quickly as she had dismissed taking the map. It would have been useful, but she hardly needed it — just as she hardly needed to rush her plans. By that point, she had realized exactly how helpless the school really was, and just how unlikely it was they would be discovering her exploits. That had held very true. She had practically been toying with them ever since.

She could have ended this months ago, more than likely. Any time after Dumbledore had been removed from the castle, really. 

But she had wanted everything to be perfect.

Seven catalysts to draw from during the night of the full moon.

Everything would go perfectly.

She would have her body back, at long last.

And when she did, she would be able to think clearly and outside of the single-minded compulsion that was currently being imposed upon her by the prison she had dwelled in for so long.

_**Meanwhile, in the staff room...** _

Harry had been watching the Marauder’s Map when he had seen the oddity take place. All of the teachers had grouped together and were slowly making their way towards the staff room. 

His eyes narrowed.

This may well have meant that the Heir of Slytherin had struck again. If the cryptic note Harry had received just the previous morning was any indication, this would be the final strike. After this, or whatever constituted as the Heir’s next move, something major would happen. 

Harry could feel it.

He slipped out of the common room as quickly as he could and, with the aid of the map, beat all of the teachers to the staff room. The difficult part was going to be getting past the Auror standing guard outside.

Harry hid in a nearby alcove until the sounds of the teachers drew near. Then, he sucked in his breath and vanished from sight, carefully creeping into the room behind the professors. Just as carefully, Harry slid under the table and cast the most powerful, wordless Notice-Me-Not Charm he could manage.

He had been trying to work his way up to the Disillusionment Charm over the past few months. He had quickly realized that particular bit of magic was firmly out of his reach, for now. So he had decided to work on other, slightly less advanced secrecy measures. This particular spell had taken him months to master, primarily because he had only worked on it wordlessly. His philosophy had been quite simple — if the entire point of a spell was to aid in stealth, then speaking the incantation aloud would have been wholly counterintuitive. 

He had eventually mastered it. Mercifully so, for none of the staff seemed to notice him as Professor McGonagall shakily cleared her throat and began the meeting in earnest. Harry had never heard her sound so grave before.

“The Wizengamot met earlier today. They did so in a behind-closed-doors meeting. No media was allowed entrance, and everyone in the chamber was sworn to secrecy, except in telling those who they were ordered to tell.” Her face set into a firm line of resoluteness. “It just so happens I was one of those told, and now I am telling all of you, but I must insist you all swear a most stringent oath of secrecy.”

All present did so, except Harry. Depending on what this was about, it could be excellent blackmail material.

McGonagall closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. To those who had been present on that fateful day almost two years ago, she reminded them of how Dumbledore had looked right before informing the staff that Terence Higgs had been killed by the cerberus he had willingly allowed into the school.

It didn’t exactly fill them to the brim with hope and joy.

“Hogwarts will not be opening next year unless the Heir of Slytherin is apprehended.”

Most present gasped.

“But Minerva,” piped up Professor Flitwick, “what about the Heir’s threats? They’ll kill all of the students they’ve taken if they find out.”

“Hence the strict oaths of secrecy, Fillius,” McGonagall said heavily. “Hopefully, it doesn’t come to this, but I don’t think our chances are terribly high at the moment. We’ve tried for months and nothing has come of it. I’m not sure that will change in the coming month, but we better hope something does, or else the school will not reopen.”

“What of the captured students?” Snape asked in a completely emotionless tone of voice.

“The announcement will not be made for some time,” said McGonagall. “August, if it must wait that long. The Wizengamot is working on repealing the portion of the Hogwarts charter banning any occupying force from entering Hogwarts.”

“So the goal is then to hope the Heir keeps the students alive over the summer and to send everything the Ministry has at the school at some point in July before the announcement is ever made?” McGonagall nodded, and Snape sneered. “Has the Wizengamot failed to notice the holes in that plan? Or maybe chasms would be a more apt term? Chasms so vast they put even Potter’s ego to shame.”

“That’s enough, Severus,” ordered McGonagall. “Unless you have a better plan to propose to the Wizengamot, we will be moving forward.”

Snape said nothing, and the meeting continued, though dread was mounting inside of Harry.

His worst fears had come to fruition.

Not only had the Heir of Slytherin made things deeply personal, but they might also end up ruining his life — whether they did so knowingly or not.

_**June 3, 1993  
The Office of the Minister for Magic  
8:47 PM** _

Bartemius Crouch Sr. had been having a long day. Most days were long as the Minister for Magic, especially during this most trying year. The days since the last, secret meeting of the Wizengamot had been ever longer. Mercifully, nothing had leaked to the public. This wasn’t terribly surprising, since there had been an air-tight oath of secrecy in effect, but one never knew with people like Rita Skeeter floating about. Mind you, even if Skeeter knew, there was a serious chance she would refuse to spread the knowledge. She would be vilified — if not far worse — if she did.

Crouch’s day had been long before he got to his office, but it became still longer when he saw the envelope sitting atop his desk.

It was a fairly nondescript envelope aside from its rather blatant seal. One that Crouch thought far too revealing for the most secretive group of individuals in the country.

It was an image of a shimmering grey veil as the backdrop to two crossed wands.

Hesitantly, Crouch opened the envelope, and his eyes widened.

This _really was not his day._

___**June 4, 1993  
A Tower Overlooking the Sea  
9:13 PM** _

_On a battered, ancient bed sat a man just as weathered as the excuse for furniture he sat atop._

_Once, this man had been dashing. His blond locks had drawn attention, as had his perfect skin, quietly imposing figure, and an air of power and danger that once radiated around him._

_Now, years later, much of that was gone._

_His skin was wrinkled and as weathered as leather. It was also unnaturally pale, as though it had not properly seen the sun in many long years. Where luscious blond locks had once sat, his head was now mostly balding, with only small traces of the hair he had once sported._

_One thing that had not dimmed over time was the man’s eyes._

_Mesmerizing, bluish-silver eyes that seemed to draw you in and compel you to listen. Not only did their vibrancy remain, but a terrifying amount of intellect still sparkled behind them. This emaciated man’s body may have decayed over time, but his mind was as sharp as it ever was. His cunning remained, as did the intelligence that had made him notorious around the world._

_His eyes had seen very little over the past forty-eight years. The view from his tower was rather splendid, but even the most breathtaking sights lost their majesty over time._

_Tonight, the view was positively stunning, though he was seated on his cot and not looking at it._

_The silvery full moon dominated the sky, seeming to shine like a slightly dimmer, far more sinister sun. Or a particularly powerful, particularly ominous spotlight that somehow encompassed all the world below. Its silvery, luminescent light shone down, glinting and sparkling off of the dark, churning sea below as light might dance across a sheet of glass._

_It was a beguiling image, for certain._

_Even if the man sitting in this tower was looking, his vision would have been obscured a moment later._

_A blinding flash lit up the very world around him, and the light that suddenly filled his cell was far brighter than he had seen in many years. He winced as he covered his eyes, completely blinded by the sudden onslaught of light until it finally dimmed and faded. He had to blink white spots out of his eyes but once he managed, he stared openly at the man before him and let out a deep, mirthless cackle._

_The sound filled the otherwise quiet cell, almost magnified by the complete silence that otherwise accompanied it. After a few seconds of laughing, the man’s cackles broke down into deep, wracking coughs before he finally pulled himself back together, still grinning madly._

_It took him another moment or so to compose himself and glance up towards the tall, thin man standing before him. One with long, silvery hair and beard, twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, and a splendid bird sat atop his shoulder._

_“You have come at last,” said Grindelwald in a raspy voice that still managed to convey his cynical amusement. “As I knew you would.”_

__**Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, on the second floor…** _ _

_The knowledge of Hogwarts’ looming closure had lit a fire under Harry. A fire the likes of which he had never experienced before. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to become even more motivated to capture the Heir of Slytherin, but it had somehow happened._

_He had even begun retracing their steps from months earlier. They had already explored this part of the castle in-depth and found nothing, but Harry had a feeling it housed the answers they needed._

_They now also had the advantage of him being much more skillful with wards. He had set up a temporary Notice-Me-Not ward using some of the runestones he’d gotten for Christmas. It wouldn’t fool the Aurors for long, but it would buy him and Ares — who was accompanying him on his explorations as she often did — time if they decided to stray from their typical patrol schedule._

_He was certain it was well worth the risk. Harry just knew there was something here that they had missed. He had a feeling tonight would be the night._

_He was correct, just not in the way he suspected._

_“Nothing yet?” he asked Ares, having yet to discover anything enlightening himself._

_“Nothing I didn’t know already.”_

_That answer was… odd._

_He glanced over his shoulder to look at her._

_She was not searching at all._

_She stood straight, peering curiously at him in the low light of the corridor. Her dark blue eyes shone malevolently in the light of the torches, sparkling with unmasked curiosity and victory._

_Wait… _blue_ eyes?_

_Ares didn’t have _blue_ eyes!_

_Oh… fuck!_

_And the ward was up around them… nobody would hear anything that was about to happen._

__FUCK!_ _

_“Too late, Harry,” Ares said smugly as he went for his wand. Hers was already in her hand, and she fired a jet of red light towards him without the need for a wand movement or incantation._

_He dodged, summoning his wand with a flick of his wrist and wheeling to face her, adrenaline coursing in his veins as his mind worked at a million miles an hour._

_Ares Black was the Heir of Slytherin!_

_That fucking bitch had betrayed him?!_

_Memories of Hurst flashed through his mind. How she had snaked her way into his good graces only to reveal herself as Voldemort. Ares had done the same thing now, but she had possibly gone to even greater extremes. It had been her who had gotten him access to the memory that had led to so many things. It was her who had suggested how they would snoop on the Boy-Who-Lived’s mail. It had even been her who had proposed this search tonight…_

_He felt pain well up in his chest. It was like every muscle within him was being subjected to immense pressure. If felt as though they were all being compressed to a terrifying degree. For a second, his throat even constricted._

_His vision tinted red. He had not felt this way since destroying Malfoy in the common room. That was the last time he could remember feeling such immense rage as he felt for the bitch of a traitor standing before him._

_But there was something else, too._

_Something that was foreign to him, and something that was particularly painful. Far more painful than the fury hazing his mind and clouding his vision._

_It was oddly reminiscent of how he had felt the day James Potter’s existence had been revealed to him._

_Despite that, he kept his focus; he had to keep his focus._

_“OZIO FRACTO!”_

_The bolt of red energy erupted from the tip of his wand, crackling towards his opponent and closing the distance with the speed of a thunderbolt._

_Ares casually batted the spell away as if it were a Tickling Charm._

_“Not quite good enough, I’m afraid,” she said, strolling lazily towards him as she batted every effort aside._

_Harry snarled as he continued to unleash spell after spell. They grew more dangerous as she approached. Stunners and Bludgeoners were voided in exchange for Bone-Breakers and Piercing Hexes. Still, he could tell she was toying with him. She could end this duel whenever she chose._

_Even Grace wasn’t this good._

_The only opponent he had ever faced with this sort of skill had been Voldemort herself._

_Before he knew it, he found his back up against the wall and Ares Black went on the offensive for the first time._

_In seconds, Harry’s wand was torn from his hand, and hers was aimed at his forehead._

_“Legilimens,” she hissed._

_He gasped as the force of her magic washed over his mind. His shields were of no consequence, as she passed through them in seconds._

_But she did not pry his memories from him._

_She simply took control of his bodily functions and flicked the light off._

_Harry crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap like a puppet with its strings cut, completely unaware of what was going on around him as the Heir of Slytherin smiled victoriously._

_The final piece had fallen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I really hope that last scene turned out as well as I hoped for. I did play with it a great deal. Thank you to Sesc from my Discord server for his feedback on this scene.**
> 
> **I have actually been foreshadowing Ares as the Heir of Slytherin since the second chapter of year 2. I won’t get into all the instances, but they have been fairly abundant. I will likely explain them in a blog when the year has been concluded. I really wanted year 2 to be a mystery, and I didn’t want to do the boring “Oh, they’re in the Chamber of Secrets and here’s the Heir of Slytherin.” I wanted to add a bit of flare to it.**
> 
> **All will be explained soon as the endgame unfolds. For now, I just hope that the payoff on that particular element of the year turned out how I’d hoped.**
> 
> **Let me know what you guys think and try not to hate me too much for the cliffhanger.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, inkbug, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, princeoftheseas, Sam, and Sesc for their corrections/contributions on this chapter.**
> 
> **A massive thank you is also extended to my first top-tier Patron, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, for her generous support on that platform! An additional shoutout is extended to my Oracle-level Patron, 3CP, for his unwavering support as well. Your guys’ support means the world to me.**


	32. Solving Riddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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__**June 4, 1993  
A Tower Overlooking the Sea  
9:13 PM**

“Did you now?” asked Albus, looking at his old friend and enemy with a deep frown and raised brow.

Grindelwald’s lips twitched. “Come now, Albus, surely you have not forgotten my many talents after all these years.”

“I have not,” said Albus, “though I do wonder whether it was merely a prediction on your part as opposed to something truly prophetic.”

“Who says it was not both?” 

Albus seemed to think about that, obviously coming to the conclusion it might well have been both. “I suppose it matters not,” he decided. “I am not here for a reunion, I am afraid, nor am I here for a jailbreak.” Grindelwald snorted. “I have come for information. Whether you pass it to me or I find it elsewhere matters not, though I would, of course, appreciate candidness on your part.”

“Information,” drawled Grindelwald. “Tell me, what could the great and mighty Albus Dumbledore possibly not know? What facet of life or magic could plausibly baffle my defeater? The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks, and all of the other titles you so proudly flaunt.”

“Information that you specialize in, as a matter of fact.” Dumbledore’s voice was perfectly pleasant despite Grindelwald’s taunts. “Information that is of the utmost importance. It is paramount that I learn of it. Whether from you or another.”

“Ask your question then,” Grindelwald acquiesced with narrowed eyes.

“Very well, I shall deliberate no longer. I am here to ask you about Chaos Magic.”

_**Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts…** _

“FULL LOCKDOWN IS IN EFFECT INDEFINITELY! ALL CLASSES ARE CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE! ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REMAIN IN THEIR COMMON ROOMS! THEY ARE NOT TO LEAVE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! FURTHER INFORMATION WILL BE PROVIDED BY YOUR HEADS OF HOUSE SHORTLY! THANK YOU!”

Muttering immediately erupted in the Gryffindor common room, spreading and consuming all present as if it were a raging wildfire. The volume rose around the room, as did the urgency with which the hasty words were uttered. It was clear to all present that something had changed. Something likely of great significance, and therefore, most probably, related to the Heir of Slytherin.

In a far corner of the room, shrouded somewhat in shadow, two second-year students sat with deep looks of concern marring their features. 

“What do you think has happened?” asked the first; a girl with large front teeth and bushy brown hair.

The second ran a twitching hand through his jet-black hair and fidgeted intensely. “It’s gotta be something involving the Heir,” said Charlus. “Another disappearance, I reckon.”

Hermione bit her lip and began to fidget just as much as the boy sitting beside her. “But we never got a message like that for any of the other disappearances. We were shut down when Greengrass went missing; nothing like this, though. That sounded so… panicked.”

Charlus frowned at that. She had a point — Hermione usually did. He wondered what possibly could have once more escalated things. If it was a disappearance, who could it have been? Or was it possible that more than one person had disappeared? It would explain the sudden shift in tone, but it would contradict the Heir’s message.

Two more pieces left to fall, the menace had told Charlus. 

The first had very clearly been Cassius Warrington, who had vanished less than a week ago. Now, Charlus was sure the second had disappeared, but he was equally sure it was only one victim.

So why was the school suddenly so tense? Why was it that everything had seemed to change at a moment’s notice?

He had no idea, and he realized pretty quickly that neither he nor his muggleborn friend were going to be able to figure it out. 

That just wouldn’t do, not in a time like this, and especially not with all that was at stake.

Glancing around the room, Charlus noticed pretty quickly that nobody was paying them any attention at all. They were all too caught up in their not-so-hushed speculations, or their rapidly rising panic. 

“Come on,” hissed Charlus, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her forcefully to her feet. She made a small sound of protest, but Charlus hushed her as they rushed up the stairs leading towards the boys’ dormitories. 

“What are we doing?” Hermione asked in the same hissing tone of voice Charlus had used a moment earlier.

“Figuring out what’s going on.” 

“And how are we going to do that? The professors will surely come to the common room and tell us what’s going on. Shouldn’t we—”

“Hermione, has this year not taught you that the professors are useless against the Heir of Slytherin? If they had any clue what was going on, they would have caught them already. Besides, if something really is that serious, I doubt they’ll tell us everything.” 

His face was set in a hard line, and Hermione thought it looked as though the boy leading her into his dorm had aged five years in front of her eyes. It was both awe-inducing and utterly terrifying in equal measure. “There’s nothing I want more than to find the Heir of Slytherin, so we need to know everything.”

“But how—”

“Merlin, Hermione, you’re a genius, but you really are thick on common sense sometimes.”

“Excuse you!” exclaimed Hermione, blushing red as she spoke.

“The cloak,” said Charlus, wisely ignoring his friend’s most recent outburst. 

Hermione scoffed. “That will never work,” she dismissed. “Even if we can sneak into the staff room — and the professors even meet there — there are most definitely wards on that room to tell the master of the wards who are entering.”

“Ron and I snuck in last year on Samhain,” argued Charlus. “After we got put in lockdown for the night, we snuck in and heard everything. We were never noticed.” 

Now that he thought about it, Hermione really did have a point. He knew what his eyes had seen and what his brain remembered. They had done just what he said, and they hadn’t been caught, nor even detected, as far as Charlus knew. Until now, he had never actually considered the logistics of such things. 

Hermione was definitely right though. 

There certainly should have been at least a tripwire ward on the door, and it wouldn’t be at all out of the question for whoever was in control of the wards to be able to tell exactly how many people were in the room at all times. There really should have been no way that he and Ron could have gotten away with sneaking into that room and listening in to a meeting that was most definitely meant to be secret.

Yet they most definitely had, and it baffled Charlus, now that he thought about it. 

He certainly didn’t have an answer for Hermione when she frowned, looking towards him with wide, inquisitive eyes. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, running a distracted hand through his hair once more. “I have no idea how we did it, but I’m telling you, we did. Not even Dumbledore noticed, so there’s no way any of the professors will now.” Hermione didn’t look entirely convinced and Charlus sighed. He didn’t have time to waste valuable moments arguing over something that was going to happen one way or the other. “You can come with me or not. I’m going either way. The choice is yours.”

Hermione huffed. “Fine,” she agreed with a scowl. “I’ll come with you but if we get expelled, I’ll… I’ll—”

“Do all sorts of terrible things, I’m sure. Come on,” he said, withdrawing the folded cloak from the pocket of his robes and frantically gesturing for Hermione to slide underneath it. “We probably don’t have much time!”

“If you had the cloak on you the whole time, why did we have to come up to the dorms?!”

Charlus rolled his eyes. “Jeez, I don’t know. Maybe because if somebody saw us vanish from sight right in front of them, it might be a tad bit suspicious?”

Hermione’s cheeks went pink, and she slid silently under the cloak.

_**Meanwhile, back at Nurmengard...** _

“Chaos Magic?” Grindelwald mused, leaning forward slightly on his battered cot. “And tell me, Albus, what the light lord could possibly want to know about Chaos Magic?” His lips twitched. “Or what the pretender of the light could learn about Chaos Magic that he will not know already, more than likely.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I am no pretender, Gellert. We both know that very well. You of all people should know how strongly I am committed to my cause.”

“Committed to a cause born out of a self-deluded sense of obligation. You are committed to cleaning up after your own mistakes. We both know it; you merely pretend otherwise, even to yourself. We both know that you are responsible for just as much destruction as I, in certain ways. The difference is that I intended for it to happen. You simply miscalculated so drastically, you very nearly matched me.” 

He smiled thinly at the look on his old friend’s face. It looked as though Albus had just swallowed the world’s most sour lemon and was now doing his best not to vomit.

“If you are done playing perpetuated mind games and carelessly throwing out pointless jabs, I think I shall ask my question.”

“By all means.”

“You have studied Herpo the Foul’s exploitations of Chaos Magic, I’m sure?”

“Extensively.”

“Then you will have uncovered the basilisk and its great power.” It was more a statement than a question.

Grindelwald fought a smile. “Ah, yes, the king of serpents. How ironic that the few living souls who have heard of the mighty basilisk think it little more than a myth. They think it a perpetuated tale told by those who came before us.”

“That is the case for much of the magic born of Chaos,” reminded Albus. “For all the systemic problems in the governing bodies that rule over the world, they are usually quite efficient when burying things they want to disappear.”

“Even from themselves, most often,” said Gellert, actually allowing the smirk to win out and spread across his face. “I have dealt with many world leaders, and you would be shocked by how many of them had never heard the beautiful tales of Chaos.”

“You forget that I am, as you said, a man of many titles,” Albus said dryly. “I think I would not be quite as surprised as you say.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Returning to the topic at hand, I am going to assume you have studied the basilisk more than I?” Gellert inclined his head. “It is safe to assume its gaze truly was lethal, then?”

Grindelwald nodded pensively. “It is impossible to be certain, but I am as close to it as one can possibly be.”

Albus frowned deeply. “Miraculous,” he muttered. “How such magic works, I could only imagine.”

“It is a mystery to even I. Of course, I have my theories, but little more than that.”

“Its gaze is always fatal, according to your research? Never have you come across anything that might suggest other side effects in extreme circumstances?”

Gellert seemed to ponder, drumming his fingers on his knee in a rhythmic pattern. Albus tried to look anywhere but at his filthy fingernails, which had grown long and gnarled over time. “Nothing I have ever read suggests anything of the sort,” he said carefully. 

“I sense a caveat.” 

“How perceptive of you.” When Albus’s stare did not so much as waver, Grindelwald continued. It felt quite liberating to speak with someone after all this time. Especially someone with a mind to match his own. 

“I suspect obscuring one’s sight from the gaze would do the job. The eyes are a conduit for magic. Legilimency is proof of that, and there are other magics supporting that as well. I am sure the basilisk’s gaze is of this nature. If one were to look at the creature with a blindfold, I doubt it would do a thing. If one were to see it through a lens…” he shrugged.

“What do you think might happen to them in the latter case?”

“You cannot predict Chaos Magic. You know this as well as I do. The very nature of such a thing is to make impossible things possible, and to warp reality in ways that the controlled, suppressed magic we normally draw from could never hope of achieving.”

Albus’s mind was working at a hundred miles an hour. If it was a basilisk in the school, there were some problems, even though some of it made sense. Creevey had unmistakably seen it through the camera, hence the destroyed film inside. The cat could have possibly seen it in the reflection of the water that had streamed across the floor. 

But the chances of every single person ever petrified in the 40s or missing this past year having seen it through a reflection, lens, or similar manner was next to none. It would be a one in a million chance, and Albus didn’t think it to be the case.

Of course, he had suspected that already before arriving at Nurmengard.

He had suspected a basilisk for some weeks now, but there was one, very important question he needed to ask of his old friend and enemy. A question that, despite as much research into the topic as he could manage, he had been unable to answer.

“It is… safe to assume that whatever ritual is required to birth the basilisk has been lost to time?”

“I think so, yes. It is certainly not the foolish tale involving a chicken’s egg that was popularized by ridiculous misinterpretations of mythology. It is likely something far more… elaborate.”

“And whatever this process may be, the odds of modifying it would be… slim?”

Grindelwald sighed. “You are growing blunt with age, old friend. I know what you are asking. Is it possible to in some way modify the ritual or the creature itself after creation in a way that would allow its gaze to do something other than killing?” 

He seemed to think about it as the drumming of his fingers resumed. “I think so,” Grindelwald said after a time. “The ritual itself is difficult to speculate on, knowing next to nothing about it. The creature itself could feasibly be altered. Possibly through more Chaos Magic, possibly through Hemomancy. More likely, through a combination of different magics. I am far from certain, but I think it to be possible, if exceedingly difficult.” His eyes gleamed. “Of course, one would need to not die in the creature’s presence if they wished for this to be possible.”

Albus had heard about all he needed to know. 

Slytherin could have survived long enough if he wished to alter the creature after it had been born. From what he had gleaned, it did seem very possible that Herpo had indeed hatched a basilisk. If that was the case, he — being the first-ever Parselmouth on record — had likely been able to control it. Which implied they could be controlled by speakers. Or perhaps it was by those who birthed them through the use of Chaos Magic. In either scenario, Slytherin would have been able to control the snake long enough to stay alive. 

Or he had just modified the ritual itself. From what Albus had learned during years of study — a study that had intensified since Voldemort’s rise — Slytherin was a foremost expert in archaic forms of magic. If anyone was capable of it, it was him.

“I thank you for your service, Gellert,” said Albus, bowing his head to the immaculate man sitting before him.

Grindelwald’s lips twitched. “And it shall not be the last, either. You shall return, Albus, mark my words.”

As Dumbledore vanished in a flash of fire, he wondered how true Gellert’s words were. Or whether or not the former dark lord was simply pulling his leg for the sake of it. Either option was equally possible, though he very much hoped the latter was true.

_**Minutes later, in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

Harry awoke in a dazed state. The first thing he became aware of was the pounding headache that consumed most of his limited concentration. The next realization he came to was that he didn’t know where he was, which raised the question of how he had gotten there in the first place. For perhaps the first time in his life, his memory nearly failed him. He needed to use Occlumency to force his mind into a calm and clear state before it started working how it was supposed to, at which point the memories began flowing back to him.

He had been hunting the Heir of Slytherin with Ares Black. Ironically, that had been exactly who the Heir of Slytherin was. He remembered the way her eyes had shone blue instead of violet. He remembered her words, her mannerisms, and the shockingly brief and one-sided duel they had shared. And then… she had used Legilimency, overwhelmed his defences, and he had seen nothing at all.

He had been so flustered that he hadn’t entirely put together what was going on. Thinking on it now with a margin of coherence, Harry realized why he had never stood a chance in that duel.

If his assumption was correct, he hadn’t been duelling Ares Black at all. He had instead been duelling Emily Riddle; the magical prodigy from the 1930s and 40s, and the one who had taught him so much about magic. If he was right, she seemed to be using Ares similarly to the way that Voldemort had used Hurst the year before. If this was indeed the case, he had never stood a chance.

“Awake, are we?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but it didn’t belong to Ares. Harry was actually struggling to place it. It wasn’t identical to anyone he had heard, but something about it rang out in his mind.

He tried to scramble to his feet, only to realize his arms and legs were bound. Panic began to rise within him, but he crushed it using Occlumency without a second thought. Emotions were not going to get him out of this situation. So long as he escaped alive and intact, he would deal with the mental repercussions later.

With his mind now clear once more, Harry finally looked around the unfamiliar, cavernous room he seemed to be held captive in.

The ceiling loomed far above, high enough for several twenty-foot tall columns of roughly hewn stone to stretch from floor to ceiling. The room was fairly dark, though a number of lowly flickering torches were dotted around its perimeter, casting long, dark shadows across the open floor and sending them dancing sinisterly across the walls.

The main feature of the room was the towering statue that Harry was sitting directly in front of. He was facing the statue, as were Cassius on his left and Daphne on his right. It loomed nearly as high as the ceiling and was carved from stones not too dissimilar from the ones used to fashion the columns. This statue was more detailed, though, and it was very obviously of a man. One with a long beard, and one who Harry could only presume to be Salazar Slytherin, for he could think of nowhere else he might be at the present moment but the fabled Chamber of Secrets.

Much as the imposing statue was a sight to behold, it wasn’t what currently held his attention. 

Seeing Daphne had sent a pang of guilt, heartbreak, and fury through him. She looked so peaceful in whatever state she was in, but he knew it was an illusion. He wasn’t sure what Ares — or Emily — had done to the other six gathered students. None of them seemed to be conscious, and they all seemed rigid but peaceful. He, Cassius and Daphne were bound to three columns facing Slytherin’s statue. Opposite and facing them were Lillian Moon, Colin Creevey, and the Weasley twins.

Oddly, Harry remembered something about seven being a powerful magical number. It seemed significant, though he couldn’t quite work out why.

Ares laid prone in the centre of the circle. She was deathly pale and faintly shaking. This only added to the surety that it hadn’t been her who had spoken, but another.

Another who stepped out of the shadows a moment later, striding carefully into the circle of victims, stopping directly in front of Harry and peering down at him with a gleam in her eye.

“Riddle!” 

It was Emily Riddle without a doubt. Tall, pale, and angelic, with long, straight black hair and dark blue eyes. The same colour as Ares’s had been when they duelled in the second-floor corridor.

When Harry said her name, Riddle’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her features moulded into an impassive mask, though the gleam in her eyes only intensified. 

“How interesting,” she said in a soft, cool voice tinged with interest and what Harry thought might have even been amusement. “You’re full of surprises, Harry Potter.” Harry just glared up at her. “How long have you known?” she asked.

“That it was you opening the Chamber of Secrets? Months. I just didn’t know how or who you might have been using to do it.”

“Months, you say?” There was definitely amusement in her tone now. “Yet you told nobody of your suspicions. I’m sure you researched me. There’s no way someone like you didn’t, especially not after you worked out the truth. I’m interested; what made you think you could bring me down alone?”

That… was a really good question he hadn’t actually thought about.

So much of his efforts over the past few months had gone into discovering who the Heir of Slytherin was. Or, at the very least, who Riddle was using to open the Chamber of Secrets. That in and of itself had become so daunting that Harry had never once stopped to consider what he might do if he found the person responsible. His duel with Riddle — or Ares, depending on how one looked at it — had proven exactly how shortsighted that had been. It hadn’t been competitive at all — he had never stood a chance in a fight. 

And he should have known it; he was too obsessive and hyper-fixated on one primary goal.

Riddle had been equally as prodigious as himself if her school records said anything on the matter. And she had years of experience on him. She had even been helping him with magic. He should have realized he would have stood no chance. Hell, even if his friends had all been present, he wasn’t sure any of them would have stood a chance.

Something about Riddle seemed… off though.

She had attended Hogwarts in the 1930s and 40s. The Riddle he had been writing to had spoken of travelling for years learning magic, and she had certainly sounded the part. 

But this Riddle… she didn’t look nearly old enough to be _the_ Emily Riddle. 

She looked to Harry exactly how she had in the pensieve at Black Manor, which shouldn’t have been at all possible.

What the fuck was going on?

He had to stall for time and work out some of these puzzle pieces. “I wasn’t planning a fair fight,” he said. That probably would have been his philosophy too, had he thought it through. 

Riddle’s lips twitched. “You weren’t planning a fight at all,” she corrected. “You weren’t planning anything beyond catching me. I think if push came to shove, you would have pondered between an ambush and telling the professors.” She smiled at the somewhat taken aback look on Harry’s face. “Don’t lie to me, Harry. People don’t get away with lying to me. As somebody who I suspect to be a Natural Legilimens, you should understand how that works.”

Suspect? Why did she have to suspect? Harry and Emily had come to the conclusion months ago that he was a Natural Legilimens. None of this was lining up, and a nagging feeling started to gnaw at the back of Harry’s mind. A feeling that he was missing one essential piece of the puzzle. One that would change his entire outlook on things if he were to work out what that piece was.

He forced his mind clear once more and did his best to focus on detecting any probes. If this was really Riddle, he doubted it would do much good. She had been miles ahead of him in the Mind Arts before leaving Hogwarts judging by her notes in the Speaker’s Den. Her abilities then seemed to put Charlotte’s to shame, so he could only imagine what she would become later.

“You seem confused,” said Riddle. “What is it that has you so tongue-tied? I was curious to learn of your deductive genius, but it seems to have stalled.” When Harry didn’t answer, Riddle’s smile turned indulgent. “Alright, let’s try something more simple, and maybe we can fill in the gaps since I’m not planning on you remembering any of this conversation in the long run. How is it you know who I am? More importantly, how did you work out that I was the Heir of Slytherin? It was a rather impressive deduction, I must admit. One that none, save Dumbledore, ever came close to making the last time I opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

When Harry still didn’t answer, Riddle sighed. “Allow me to make this easier on you. I know you saw the memory. I know about everything that has happened around Ares Black at Hogwarts this year. I was the one who got you access to that memory. I know you somehow gleaned it from there, but I’m curious how. Nobody else put it together.”

“It wasn’t exactly complicated,” said Harry. “There’s no way Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin. He doesn’t have the brains to get away with it, and there was just no way you were stupid enough to believe otherwise.”

A small part of him realized that talking might be a bad idea, but he had no other options. She could apparently tell if he lied, but he still needed to stall. That meant being truthful was, unfortunately, the best way forward he could see.

“A reasonable assumption, but you also know that Hagrid raised an acromantula. You heard the full story via your brother’s letter and relayed it to Ares and the others in the Den.” Riddle’s eyes narrowed. “The same Den you have been frequenting all year.”

Oh… fuck!

How the hell did Riddle know he was using the Den? 

“I’m sure the memory helped you, but it was more than that,” she continued. “You’ve known about me and were interested in me long before I ever got you access to that memory. You know more than you’re letting on, and I don’t think it’s just because you looked up my academic records.”

“You’re not exactly one to talk,” Harry bit back, grasping at anything to keep the conversation going. “You’ve been interested in me all year. You framed me as the Heir of Slytherin from the beginning. When that didn’t work, you started attacking my housemates and friends. Now, you lured me here specifically. One more piece left to fall, was it? You had me specifically planned as a target. I think you have from the beginning.”

“From quite early, yes,” admitted Riddle. “At first, you were just a convenient scapegoat. Especially once I realized that yourself and Dumbledore didn’t get along quite as swimmingly as I might have expected.” She scowled. “It seems he doesn’t dislike you quite as much as he did me. If I had been in your spot, he would have expelled me without pause.”

That… was interesting.

Riddle seemed like the sort of student Dumbledore would love and adore. With her grades, prefect status, and eventual Head Girl position, she seemed to be the perfect student.

Then again, Dumbledore had worked out she was the Heir of Slytherin. But if Riddle was speaking in terms of then flipping spots, she meant _before_ he had worked that out.

What had she done to earn Dumbledore’s ire?

This whole thing seemed wrong, but Harry just couldn’t figure out what was going on.

“Once I realized you weren’t going to be expelled,” Riddle continued, “my plans changed. I saw an opportunity to get close to you as Ares. Once you let me into your little group of friends, you never stood a chance. You are very clever and astonishingly intelligent, but you have a soft spot for those who come from similar places to you. That is rather easy to prey on and once I was in, I slowly began to warp things. 

“I recognized the level of contempt you held for Dumbledore, and I gave you the weapons needed to hopefully get him removed from the castle. I didn’t expect your other ammunition,” she said with an appraising look. “That was a pleasant surprise, but I had hoped the knowledge of him giving the suspected Heir a job would be enough to do it. Once he was gone, it was just a matter of knocking down pieces and moving others into the correct position.

“I knew how interested you were in me by this point, and there are things about you that intrigue me. I knew I had to talk to you, so I added you as a target. Which brings me back to my question. Why is it you were so interested in me? Whatever the answer is, I’m assuming it’s how you worked everything out in such a timely fashion.”

He was cornered. He couldn’t well tell her that he had learned from the snakes in the dungeons that she was a Parselmouth. That would reveal himself as one. If doing so would somehow get him out of here, he would do it, but otherwise, he was not giving up that information. Not with nothing to gain. She also clearly wasn’t going to accept her academic achievements as a plausible answer, which left him with a small number of options.

As he thought, he realized that the question in and of itself made no sense in the slightest.

She should know why he was interested in her. They had written to each other for months, or so he had thought. 

There was only one solution, and how it was possible at all boggled his mind.

There were two Emily Riddles.

It didn’t seem possible, but he could think of no other option.

The sound of her shoe tapping impatiently on the floor brought him back to the present, and he scrambled for an answer. “I… looked into you last year after looking up your records and all the rest. Outside of Hogwarts, there’s barely a mention of you. Something about you fighting in one of the last battles in the Blood War, and then not a mention of you. I found it odd how a prodigy just vanished without a trace and became curious.”

Riddle looked thoughtful, and Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he occluded as hard as he could, searching for any invasions in his mind. 

“That is interesting, isn’t it?” Her voice was soft and little more than a whisper. “Yes,” she muttered, seeming to be speaking more to herself than Harry. “Yes, that would do it. It is suspicious, I will admit. It still seems remarkable you would put it all together, but you’re no normal child. It’s exactly the deduction I would have made at the same age.”

Riddle was pacing back and forth, drumming her fingers against the side of her thigh as she did so. “Very well. I suppose the next question is how did you discover the Speaker’s Den?”

This conversation kept creeping way too close to truths Harry was not at all comfortable sharing. Specifically that he was a Parselmouth.

“Grace,” he lied, which seemed to catch Riddle off guard. He hoped the surprise would be enough to distract her from possibly sniffing out his lie with Legilimency. “She showed me near the end of first year.”

He just hoped it was even possible for a non-Parselmouth to find the Den. If not, that excuse was about to blow up in his face. Mercifully, Riddle seemed to accept it, so it must have been a legitimate possibility.

“You are oddly close with that family,” mused Riddle. “Closer than most, though if your address to the newspapers is to be believed, you knew nothing of magic until the age of eleven. Interesting how quickly that relationship formed.” Her foot tapped the floor again. “Is she also the one who taught you Occlumency? Your defences are unnaturally sound.”

This was tricky, too. He had already implicated Grace in helping him, but that lie had been fairly harmless. This one would not be. This would indicate Riddle perhaps had a challenger, and Harry did not think she would react at all well to that. Nor did he think she would take direct action against Grace for entering the Den. Not when she would be out of Hogwarts by the end of the year. 

But if she found out she was prodigious in the Mind Arts…

“Our Defence professor last year got me started on it,” said Harry. “We met up once or twice each week to work on it. I had a sort of natural talent for it so once we started, I didn’t need too much guidance.”

Riddle studied him carefully. “The same Defence professor who vanished at the end of the year,” she noted. “Funnily enough, she vanished right around the time you ended up in the hospital wing with your brother, according to the Malfoy Heir. There wouldn’t happen to be any relation between those two things, would there?”

“There was an… incident. They say the Defence job is cursed. She went a bit mad at the end of the year. Dumbledore stepped in before anything could get too out of hand.”

“It always comes back to Dumbledore, doesn’t it?” Riddle’s voice was colder than it had been thus far. 

Harry had the distinct impression she had seen through this most recent deception, but it didn’t seem to be one she was too upset by, as she didn’t seem to have any desire to press him on it.

Instead, she had different plans.

“To business then, Harry. You interest me, but your story is more important than my curiosity.”

“My… story?”

“Yes, your story. Your memory is quite exceptional, as you have told Ares and your other friends. So, I would like to know what you remember about Halloween night of 1981.” When Harry immediately stiffened, Riddle’s eyes flashed. “I will take it from your mind myself if you do not comply.”

“What interests you so much about that night?” 

“What is there not to be interested in? A magical anomaly the likes of which the world has never seen. A curse that has stood the test of time and failed not even once utterly backfiring upon the greatest wielder of magic the world has ever seen. This same great sorceress is then destroyed by an infant with no sign of any extraordinary powers.”

Harry felt odd alarm bells go off in his mind. There was something about the way Riddle spoke of Voldemort. There was complete and total reverence. Harry had never heard anyone speak a name with such a loving caress in her voice, and put him on edge.

“Why are you so interested in Voldemort?” he asked. “You were supposedly gone during the years she rose to power.”

“How wrong you are, Harry,” Riddle said, a full-blown smile spreading across her face. “I am but a memory, for now. A shade of Emily Riddle left and preserved in this diary for fifty years. A contingency plan, if you will.”

That answered a lot of questions.

There really were two Emily Riddles. The one stood before him — or the impression of one, at least — and the one Merlin only knew where who had written to him for the better part of the year.

But that still prompted questions.

“My question still stands,” said Harry. “If you really are just a shade from the 1940s, then Voldemort came after your time.”

Riddle actually laughed. It was a soft, genuine laugh born out of pure amusement. “Emily Riddle never vanished off the face of the planet, nor was she absent when the Dark Lady rose to power. You have simply missed the obvious truth that has been staring you in the face the entire time. Emily Riddle is Lady Voldemort.”

Oh…. _FUCK!!!!_

_**Meanwhile, in the staff room…** _

The tension in the staff room could be cut with a knife by the time Charlus and Hermione edged their way inside while under the invisibility cloak. To Hermione’s awe and Charlus’s bewilderment, no wards seemed to trip when they snuck through the door behind Lockhart — the last professor to enter the room. 

They stood off to the side, against the far wall, having a full and unobstructed view of the ongoing meeting.

Unlike Dumbledore during the only other meeting Charlus had ever eavesdropped on, McGonagall did not hesitate to begin. “Two students have gone missing.” The tone of her voice conveyed exactly how serious the matter at hand was.

Charlus could not help but be almost as surprised as he was terrified. 

The Heir’s last message really had made it seem as though there was only one target for the upcoming attack. They had instead taken two in one strike. Judging by the graveness with which Professor McGonagall spoke, it was clear to all in attendance that this was of the utmost importance.

“Who is it this time?” asked Professor Sprout. 

McGonagall took a deep, shaking breath. “Harry Potter and Ares Black.”

Charlus’s mind blanked.

His brother. HIS BROTHER WAS MISSING!?

Guilt slammed into him like a tidal wave. He had suspected his brother for so much of the year and now he was gone? 

“Their skeletons shall lie in the chamber forever, was what the Heir wrote on the wall,” said McGonagall. “The same wall that Mrs. Norris was found on during the night of Samhain.”

“Is there anything we can do?” squeaked Flitwick, whose hands were clenched so tightly on the table his knuckles were as white as the finest coat of snow.

McGonagall sighed. “I do not know,” she said despondently. “The school should be closed but if we do that, the Heir might well go through with their threats and cause the deaths of these students.”

“At what point do we step in despite the risks?” asked Snape. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of horror, but his expression did not so much as shift an inch. “We are partaking in an exercise in futility,” he said sharply. “I am sure you all see that as clearly as I do. Even with time, how many of you believe by now that this Heir will ever be discovered? It would be a great loss, but at what point do we sacrifice those the Heir has taken with the knowledge that it might save hundreds of other lives in the process?”

“Even one life is too much,” said Lockhart at once. “A life is too high a cost to pay. I will happily risk my own if it means the victims have any chance at freedom.”

“Hear, hear!” squeaked Flitwick. 

Several of the professors were nodding, but McGonagall looked unsure. “It is not our lives we must consider,” she said with a shake of her head. “It is the lives of the students.”

“And the ones who have been taken!” argued Lockhart.

“I’m not saying we should doom them as Severus is proposing,” said McGonagall. “But I am saying all options need to be considered at this point. I do agree with Severus on one thing. I doubt by now that we will be unmasking the culprit any time soon.”

“What is your plan then, Minerva?” asked Artemis Ashely, the Interim Professor of Astronomy. 

McGonagall sighed deeply. “Maintain the forced lockdown of the castle at all costs until morning. I will floo the Minister for Magic then and ask for his opinion. Hopefully, we can get an emergency Wizengamot meeting called as soon as this afternoon if necessary.”

“As the Interim Headmistress, you have the power to close the school of your own will, do you not?” asked Snape.

“I do, but it is a power I am reluctant to wield.”

Snape shut his eyes tightly. “Very well,” he said, though Charlus barely heard him. By now he was shaking and white as a sheet, unresponsive to Hermione’s gentle prods. “I just hope your nobility does not doom us all.”

_**At the same moment, somewhere on the outskirts of Greece…** _

Dumbledore appeared back in his hotel room in a flash of blinding fire. He swished his wand as soon as he had material form once more, summoning a quill and a piece of parchment at once.

He could not return to Hogwarts.

Well, he might be able to, but it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. If the wards registered his intent and chose to categorize him as part of the occupying force… he wasn’t sure what would happen, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Fawkes though… he played by different rules, and the phoenix most certainly would not be categorized as part of an occupying force.

Within minutes, he had written the sloppiest and most hastily scrawled note of his life, which he quickly held out to Fawkes. “Make haste,” he told his faithful familiar. “Time is of the utmost importance, yet it is a force that is ruthlessly working against us.”

With a loud squawk of what Albus could only hope to be affirmation, his familiar was gone, leaving behind only a small amount of smoke and a slowly falling feather.

_**Back in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

“You?” Harry breathed, hardly willing to believe it.

“In a sense,” said Riddle. “Technically speaking, I am not Lady Voldemort. I just know that my future self becomes her, at some point. I can guess how it happened, but it is of little consequence. 

“I am bound to this blasted book, for the time being.” She gestured to a small, black diary lying on the floor some ten feet away from the circle of bound and helpless students. “Soon, I will not be. I will be free of the diary, and I will be free of the single-minded compulsion to gain a physical form at all costs. Then, I can think with a clear mind once more, and I can act of my own volition.

“I am… unsure as to how my mental state will shift with the removal of such compulsions, but I know that I am a perfectionist at my core. I will not allow myself to make the same mistakes my older self once made, so it is imperative I know the truth. If there are any flaws in the most powerful of magics, I must know of them. Regardless of their purpose, it is something I must know. What do you remember about Halloween night, 1981, Harry Potter? How is it that your brother survived with little more than a scar, while Lady Voldemort was stripped of both her body and her powers.”

Harry didn’t answer.

He refused to answer; he would not give this bitch the information she needed.

Riddle sighed and withdrew a wand from her sleeve that Harry immediately recognized as his own. “It is a good match,” she said when she noticed his eyes following it. “It’s attuned to me far better than Ares’s wand ever has been.” 

She stepped towards him and knelt, reaching out a cool hand to touch his face. It felt… not quite solid. It apparently was, as she used it to tilt his head up to look her in the eyes, but something about it felt… faint. “Last chance to talk, Harry,” Riddle said softly, caressing his cheek and waiting for an answer.

He shut his eyes as tightly as he could, clearing his mind at the same time and doing everything he could to block the oncoming attack.

Riddle sighed. “You should know that eye contact is not necessary for a Natural Legilimens of my skill.” Harry felt her wand press against his forehead and before he could move, the overwhelming power of her mind and magic slammed into him once more with a single incantation.

“Legilimens!”

_**Minutes later, in an abandoned classroom…** _

Charlus was in a near-catatonic state by the time Hermione had dragged him into an abandoned classroom following the conclusion of the staff meeting. He had simply allowed himself to be led. He was numb with guilt, fury, and despair, and he hadn’t said a word since the revelation of his brother’s disappearance had been made known to him.

As soon as Hermione released him once they had entered the classroom, Charlus’s legs gave out. He felt the dull throb of his knees slamming into the classroom floor, but it did little to break through the haze of emotion clouding his thoughts. 

It was all too much and he couldn’t make heads or tails of the surge of feelings, nor the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes.

He shut them tightly, not wanting Hermione to see him like this and not wanting to see any of the world around him.

Apparently, the world had other ideas.

There was a light so bright that it shone straight through Charlus’s eyelids, and he heard Hermione let out a startled yell of surprise. Without thinking, Charlus scrambled to his feet and fumbled for his wand. The haze of emotions had not cleared, but adrenaline had kicked in and he had reacted naturally.

Until he froze at the sight of the majestic phoenix sitting on the nearest desk, looking straight at him with meaningful, beady eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The end game is here!**
> 
> **I know that Harry inflated the staff room as well and that some people might think he should have been detected using the wards. There is an explanation for this, I’m just not sharing it at this time.**
> 
> **Next chapter, the Heir’s full plan is revealed and the showdown we have been building towards kicks off in a big way!**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, hyuck, and Megha Teresa for their corrections/contributions this week.**
> 
> **A massive thank you is also extended to my first top-tier Patron, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, for her generous support on that platform! An additional shoutout is extended to my Oracle-level Patron, 3CP, for his unwavering support as well. Your guys’ support means the world to me.**


	33. The Sacrificial Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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_**June 4, 1993  
Gilderoy Lockhart’s Office  
11:21 PM** _

It had been many years since Gilderoy Lockhart felt the amount of stress he was currently experiencing as he re-entered his office after the recent and ominous staff meeting that had followed the disappearance of both Harry Potter and Ares Black.

Not since the death of his father in 1979 had Lockhart felt as trapped as he did now, with the one notable exception that had been his battles with the infamous werewolf Fenrir Greyback. Even during much of that decade-long conflict, Gilderoy hadn’t felt this helpless. For its duration, he at least had a plan. A rough one, perhaps, but a plan nonetheless. He felt utterly helpless and without purpose as he slunk back into his office, entirely dissatisfied with the staff meeting’s results, but entirely unsure of any better solution.

His night did not improve when he noticed the soft, bluish glow emanating from an object on his desk, one that was buried under a great number of parchments. It did have the pleasant side effect of taking Gilderoy’s attention away from his current train of thought, but he knew this wouldn't mean anything good. Least of all when the timing lined up so conveniently well with an event that was so sudden and tragic.

Gilderoy carefully slid the parchment off of the offending object and took it delicately in his hand. It was a crystal so dark in colour that it was almost black, which only meant it gave off an odd illusion of the bluish light flowing from the object being even brighter than it was. 

Gilderoy had taken his wand into his other hand a second later and opened a small cut on his palm. He held the wound over a small depression in the crystal, one that seemed to greedily consume several drops of his blood before the blue glow faded and a voice began omitting from the crystal in place of the light.

“Lockhart.”

“Croaker.” He might have sounded amused at the professional address given their history, but he was far too bothered by other things at the present moment in time. “I assume this isn’t a courtesy call?”

“Much as I find you perfectly pleasant, pleasant people aren’t the ones who get their hands on these crystals most of the time.” Lockhart snorted but waited for the Voice of the Unspeakables to cut to the chase. “Three Unspeakables will soon enter the school in place of the Aurors,” said Croaker. “It was difficult, but we managed to authorize a swap of personnel.”

“And you think you’ll have more success in tracking down the Heir of Slytherin?”

“I think we certainly have a higher chance than the Aurors. Particularly when Chaos Magic might be involved.”

“I have a feeling you shouldn’t be telling me that, Saul. Even with our… arrangement.”

“No, but the two of us know you’re aware of it, so it hardly matters. The point is that we now have three of our men in the castle. As our eyes and ears inside Hogwarts, we thought we should keep you up to date. The Aurors have officially vacated the premises, though they did so in as low-key a manner as possible. Our men will soon be replacing them, at which point we may enlist your assistance. As a professor at the school, Records believes your assistance will not count as part of an occupying force.”

“I’ll be waiting, just in case,” said Gilderoy, setting down the crystal when the connection was cut.

As if this night hadn’t been complicated enough already...

_**Minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…** _

The ghostly-lit Slytherin common room was rife with tension by the time all in the dorms had been awoken by those who had yet to succumb to the grasp of Morpheus — their Head of House had entered the room and demanded the presence of everyone in the house, with no exceptions. None of the students who had been awake at the time had argued. Snape looked more serious than any had ever seen him. Even his demeanour the afternoon after Daphne Greengrass’s disappearance had paled in comparison to the tight expression he currently wore, or the way he stood ramrod stiff and was as tense as a tightly coiled cable.

“I have called you all here in the middle of the night to make a grave announcement,” he said in a low voice once the crowd was gathered. 

Back in January, after Greengrass had vanished, it had been clear much of the crowd had been restraining the impulse to mutter or gossip. This time, it was just as clear that not a single soul even considered whispering, let alone interrupting their Head of House. 

“There has been another attack,” said Snape. “This time, there was not one victim, but two.” Everyone’s posture seemed to straighten up as they all glanced around the common room, clearly trying to spot any missing students. “The two in question are among our number,” Snape continued, and the fear and worry in the room suddenly became detectable to all physical senses. 

The air seemed to smell of it, and it seemed to sinisterly caress all of them, whispering ominously of death and deception.

“Harry Potter and Ares Black have been taken by the Heir of Slytherin.” Snape waited to see if any would speak, but none did. His eyes found Potter’s friends. They looked varying degrees of pale, worried, and shell shocked. Even the young Weitts scion and the Zabini boy didn’t seem completely unfazed. “Unlike the other attacks, the Heir of Slytherin has left us a message. ‘Their skeletons shall rest in the Chamber forever.’” 

His eyes roamed over the crowd. “This is your final opportunity to come forward if you know anything on the matter. Any action previously thought to be extreme within the power of our governing body and staff is being considered now with blatant disregard for any consequences those actions may wreak. If you know anything and wish to avoid such extreme countermeasures, I urge you all to come forward. This is now not only one, but two Founding Twelve heiresses who have vanished in the middle of the night and the Potters, for their immeasurable number of flaws, are old and powerful as well. This will not go without retaliation. 

“I am convinced methods of counteraction will be proposed and accepted despite the Heir’s threats, and I personally do not wish for it to escalate to that point. No one wins a situation in which mutually assured destruction is inevitable.”

When nobody said a word, Snape nodded curtly and swept from the common room, ignoring the multitude of reactions that hung in the room behind him.

He certainly didn’t see the way several of his younger Slytherins exchanged meaningful glances, nor the way several of his older students watched them do so intently.

_**At the same moment, in an abandoned classroom…** _

Charlus stared at the phoenix perched upon the desk as if it had fallen out of space and was something he couldn’t possibly comprehend. It wasn’t the first time he had seen Fawkes, but it was the first time he had ever seen the bird anywhere outside of Dumbledore’s office. Outside of that one time at the Duelling Club meeting, at least. Even stranger was the fact Dumbledore didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby. Charlus had a pretty loose idea of what the word ‘familiar’ tended to mean, but he was pretty sure it usually implied a very close bond. For Fawkes to be here when Dumbledore was, as far as he knew, still out of the country meant that this visit was serious.

“Look!” said Hermione, pointing to an object on the phoenix’s leg. “He has a letter!”

She was right. A scroll of parchment was indeed tied to Fawkes’s leg, and Charlus rushed to the bird with the haste one might expect from a seeker chasing an extremely elusive snitch. His heart fluttered when he saw the tall, loopy writing of Professor Dumbledore, and he somehow knew that this letter was going to change the game entirely.

_Charlus,  
I do apologize for my lack of correspondence as of late. Since my response concerning the acromantulas, I have been what the muggles might refer to as radio silent. Luckily, I assure you that I was neither stagnant nor complacent during the gaps in our correspondence. However, I write to you with rather grave news, though it does come off the back of something more positive._

_The good news is that after intensive research and cross-referencing, I am reasonably sure I have discovered what the monster is that looms in the Chamber of Secrets. The less pleasant news is that this monster is one I am unsure whether Hogwarts is at all capable of combatting._

_The monster is called a basilisk. I doubt you will have heard of it before, but it is a serpent of immense size. Its venom is among the most dangerous substances in our world, and a mere scrape from any of its fangs would most certainly be fatal._

_The most unfortunate part is that none of that is what makes the beast truly terrifying. It is at least not the monster’s most terrifying quality. That would be the fact that, from what I have ascertained, eye contact with a basilisk — and possibly even eye contact via reflection — will lead to certain death in every recorded case in history except one._

_Naturally, the exception is Hogwarts, but the truth is no more favourable for those still within the castle, I’m afraid. Eye contact of any kind with the basilisk at Hogwarts seems to result in immediate petrification, the likes of which were experienced by Mrs. Norris last Samhain. I believe that this is how the Heir of Slytherin has been making students disappear in the middle of the night._

_I am trusting you with this information, Charlus. I am currently looking for any way I might circumvent the Hogwarts charter and make an appearance of my own, but the wrath of the Hogwarts wards is not something I wish to invoke. This is why I am giving this to you. I trust you, perhaps above all others, to do what is right and not what is easy. I encourage you to proceed with great caution, and preferably with help, but it is you I entrust this knowledge to._

_I imagine the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets — where the victims are likely being held captive — is something reserved for only those who speak Salazar’s noble tongue. Alas, I, unfortunately, do not have the answer as to where the entrance to the Chamber is, though I think a bathroom is possible. The basilisk might be able to move through Hogwarts unobstructed and with great stealth, and the pipes would certainly provide it with the opportunity. I have never seen reason to examine the Hogwarts plumbing, but a Spacial Expansion Charm would have been very easy to work into the project._

_Act well and act safely. I hope to join you soon, and I hope you act with great caution._  
Yours,  
Albus Dumbledore 

Charlus gaped at the letter for so long that Hermione just walked over and read it over his shoulder. Before long, she too was in a state of utter shock, but it was she who pulled her wits together first.

“Myrtle’s bathroom.”

Charlus’s head snapped around quickly enough for him to feel his neck crack. “What?”

“It makes sense,” mused Hermione, a faraway look in her eyes as she continued to babble away. “Maybe its stare can do both and it killed Myrtle when it was coming up from the Chamber. Or maybe she just fell backwards, or…”

“Hermione, what are you on about!?”

She looked startled and confused. “You don’t see it?”

“See WHAT!?”

“The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. I think it’s in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”

Charlus just gaped at Hermione, unable to believe she had put all of that together so quickly. “We need to go and help Harry and the others.”

“How are we going to do that?” asked Hermione in a panic. “You saw what Professor Dumbledore wrote. How on earth are we meant to fight something like that?”

Charlus recognized this moment as a fork in the road. 

Last year, he had rushed carelessly after who he had then believed to be Snape in defence of the Philosopher’s Stone. He had sought to solve his own problem when Dobby had warded the barrier against him on the first of September. He had launched his own investigations into solving the mystery that was the Heir of Slytherin. 

His resolve to be independent had only grown since his failure in the catacombs last June, but Charlus liked to think he learned from at least some of his mistakes. He wasn’t an academic genius like his brother or his best female friend, but he had more brain cells to rub together than a troll. He could at least see that there was no solution to this problem he could come up with alone.

Which meant they, unfortunately, needed help, and Charlus knew without question which adult he trusted most in the castle now that Dumbledore was gone.

He was halfway to the classroom door before Hermione called after him. “Charlus! What are you doing?”

“Ending this,” he said, gesturing for a frantic Hermione to follow him as he prepared to re-don his cloak and slip out the classroom door.

_**Meanwhile, in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

After what Harry had experienced outside the second-floor girls’ bathroom when Riddle — using Ares’s body — had assaulted his mind, he knew that the feeling wasn’t going to be any more pleasant the second time. This time, he did at least have the opportunity to brace himself for all the inevitable unpleasantness he was sure would come. He forced his mind as clear as he possibly could, suppressed all emotions without exception, and hyper-focused on his internal search for any intrusions.

He knew at once it wouldn’t be enough.

Riddle tore through his defences with ruthless efficiency. Within seconds, Harry was reasonably confident she could have pulled any memory from his mind that she wanted. Grace had never assaulted his mind to the best of her abilities. To his knowledge, she hadn’t actually come that close. Even if she had, Harry wasn’t sure anything she could have thrown at him would have matched this. 

It was completely overwhelming. Normally, he would sort of… feel a disturbance at the edge of his consciousness.

Riddle was different in the fact that she was _everywhere._ There were too many disturbances and by the time Harry managed to seal one hole Riddle had forced open in his defences, she had created a dozen more.

He succumbed to her within seconds and memories began flashing past his eyes. He expected her to take everything from him but to his surprise, she didn’t.

She simply took everything related to Lady Voldemort.

He watched in transfixed horror as, for the first time in his life, he relived the death of his mother in vivid detail. He had always remembered the scream and the flash of green light, but now he could feel the heat where Voldemort’s lips had touched his forehead, and hear the crying of his twin that had started when his mother’s body had hit the floor with a dull thud.

All of Harry’s experiences with Hurst came rushing forth next. From their first lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts, to all of their private sessions, to the final confrontation down in the catacombs. 

And then finally, Riddle got what she wanted.

He was back in the Headmaster’s office, sitting across from Dumbledore as the venerable old man explained exactly why Charlus was, without doubt, the Boy-Who-Lived. He listened once more as he spoke of the sacrificial magic his mother had unknowingly invoked, and he watched once more with utter resentment and unadulterated bitterness as Dumbledore ordered him back to Privet Drive.

He expected the memories to keep going. He expected Riddle to take everything from him pertaining to the journal he shared with her older self. He expected her to take everything he had done this year, but she didn’t. 

Before the memory of him writing in the journal for the first time had even arisen, Riddle had withdrawn from his mind. Harry’s head lolled forward as his vision swam. His head was pounding. It would be less accurate to say it felt as though someone was beating a pattern on the inside of his head than it would be to say somebody was carving an impression in his very skull with a flaming hot iron. He was dazed and a bit confused, and it took some time before he had any semblance of control over his mind once more.

By then, Riddle was on her feet again, peering down at him curiously. “I feared this might happen,” said Riddle. “I had worried your knowledge might have been limited. Dumbledore might have told you what seems to be what I want to know, but I have no faith in the old relic. Least of all with someone he distrusts so greatly.” 

She paced back and forth in front of him once more, and her long, pale fingers were now frantically tapping a hasty pattern on her knees. “I suppose I’ll have to wait for your brother,” she decided before turning back to Harry. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Potter. It’s nothing personal; you simply interest me, and I felt as though you might have something I wanted. It was two for one, in my eyes.”

Harry might have responded to that had he possessed more brainpower, but Riddle was still speaking. “Of course, it won’t be the last inconvenience you go through tonight.”

“W-what do you mean?” Harry asked, still very much dazed.

Riddle paused for a moment before apparently choosing to acquiesce to his question. “I spoke to you already of a single-minded compulsion to reclaim a body. A desire I have quite naturally, but one that is greatly amplified by the diary I was contained in for so long. At midnight, I will be fulfilling that desire. Tonight, the full moon is shining high in the sky. The full moon represents many things. One of them is rebirth; the beginning of a new cycle, if you will.” 

Riddle’s eyes were gleaming, and Harry could see the way she was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Rituals are complex things. Many factors fuel such delicate magic, but the details are of the utmost importance. Symbols have power in magic, as do numbers. Tonight, the full moon shines. It doesn’t matter that its light won’t reach us; it’s the symbolism that’s important. And the numbers.” She peered curiously at Harry. “Can you guess what is going to happen?” He glared up at her with hatred in his eyes but said nothing. 

“No, I hadn’t thought you would, but you are full of surprises, so I thought the experiment would be interesting. I don’t truly exist right now. Not in the way I would like, anyway. I can cast limited amounts of magic, but even the Legilimency I used was fatiguing, and I’m drawing mostly on the ambient magic of the room. I’m not so much channelling it as much as I’m leeching off of it, which is in no way sustainable.” Harry’s mind was racing, but he was starting to see where this might go, and he didn’t like it at all. “Let’s try another one,” said Riddle. “Do you know what the most powerfully magical number is, Harry?”

“Seven,” he gritted out, still doing his best to bore a hole straight through her semi-physical form with his stare alone.

“Indeed it is,” she said. “Do you notice anything concerning that number?”

“Seven hostages,” he answered, defaulting back to his ‘keep her talking’ strategy. “If you don’t count Ares, at least.”

“Ah, I’m glad you noticed Ares. Yes, there are seven of you. Seven of you, taken and held captive against your will. In conjunction with the other components of the ritual, that symbolism will be strong enough. I have taken so much from you all already, what is a little bit of your own life force.” Harry’s eyes bulged as he began to uselessly fight against his bindings. “Don’t worry,” said Riddle, “you will be fine. There will be minor damage to your soul, but minor damage of this sort does heal, so long as it isn’t repetitive. That’s another reason for seven hostages. This way, I only need a small amount from each of you. Any more than that, and there would be long-term consequences. If there were long-term consequences, people would get… suspicious.”

Harry snorted. “I think you overestimate yourself, Riddle.”

“Oh? Do tell why?”

“You’re an idiot if you don’t think traipsing up out of the Chamber of Secrets after being gone for decades isn’t going to raise attention anyway.” He sneered, even though he hated the fact so many of his housemates sneered with such regularity. “Did you get too caught up monologuing to realize that small detail?”

“Oh, Harry,” cooed Riddle, “for all of your brilliance, you still miss the point. That isn’t at all what’s about to happen.” When he looked confused, Riddle simply gestured towards the prone form of Ares Black in the centre of the circle of hostages. “There are seven hostages, forcefully taken,” she reiterated. “I’ve explained this already, but there is also one other part of the ritual.” Harry realized what it was with horror just seconds before Riddle exposed her true, grand plan. 

“Ares gave herself to me willingly.” She frowned. “Well, not entirely, but it’s close enough to count. She wrote in the diary — on her mother’s instructions — but she wrote in it no less.”

“So that… woke you up, or something?”

Riddle’s lips twitched. “You could say that. More accurately, the more of Ares that was poured into the diary, the stronger I became. After a while, I was able to completely possess her for short periods. With time, she had poured enough of herself into the diary to make this ritual possible. By the time the ritual is complete, Ares Black will be no more.” 

Harry couldn’t help but notice that for a second, sadness was obvious in Riddle’s voice and eyes. But as quickly as it had appeared, it just… vanished. Vanished in a way that did not look natural. Harry remembered something about the single-minded compulsions that Riddle was somehow under, and he wondered whether or not they had anything to do with the conflict that had seemed to rage on within her until it had been forcefully resolved by… something. It could have been Occlumency and Riddle simply using it to suppress her emotions, but somehow, Harry didn’t think that was the case.

“But she’ll live on, in a sense.” Her voice was void of any of the emotion it had carried a moment earlier. “What you said is very true. If I were to walk up into the main castle using this body, there would be problems.” 

“You’re going to permanently take over her body,” Harry breathed in horror. “And her mother told her to write in the book that made this happen.” 

Harry wasn’t sure he had ever actually known Ares Black. Not now that he knew the truth of how she had been controlled for much of the year. What he did know was that whether he had known her or not, he felt a pang of sympathy so strong it made him feel ill. 

Being neglected and abused by those who were supposed to love and protect you was something Harry knew all too well. It was something he could relate to and sympathize with on a level deeper than perhaps anything else. Yet even he hadn’t been subjected to anything like this. For all his father had done, he had never tried to get him killed. Not even the Dursleys had stooped anywhere close to that level, even in their darkest hours.

“Bellatrix Black is not a good person,” said Riddle, and the sadness was there once more before it was again crushed as quickly as it had appeared. “As I understand it, I — many years in the future, of course — gave her this diary and said that if I were to ever fall, it should be sent to Hogwarts. I told you already, I want to live. There is nothing I hate more than death, but the diary makes that feeling stronger. It takes it to a new level. The compulsion it subjects me to is stronger than anything I have ever experienced. I am aware of it, but not even the most powerful of Occlumency seems to be able to fight it, and I can’t muster up the desire to fight it, even if I wanted to. It is a single-minded compulsion to return at all costs. 

“I remember placing that magic on the diary. It was my first foray into this sort of magic, and it was a safeguard against all things. If anything were to go wrong, it could bring me back. The artifact and its properties could be exchanged for a body, so long as certain events came to pass. Events I ensured would happen with the compulsions.

“My future self knew this all. In a time of war, she wanted to have a contingency plan, I imagine. Which is how Bellatrix Black ended up with the book.” She looked back down at Ares before returning her attention to Harry. “Ares was born not long before I fell to your brother, years after my consciousness was locked away in this diary. I don’t know this, but I suspect Ares was only born as a contingency plan. So that if I were ever to fall, Bellatrix Black had a way of getting the diary to Hogwarts.” 

Harry’s eyes were bulging with horror despite his Occlumency. 

“Her name, Ares, is spelled the same way as the Ancient Greek war god,” Riddle pointed out. “Many Ancient Greek names were gender fluid, so I think Bellatrix would have used it regardless of the gender of her child. Aries — spelled with ‘i’ as well as an ‘e’ — is also a constellation. The Black family has a long history of naming children after constellations, and I think Bellatrix liked the reference to the god of war. Ares was born as a weapon of war, after all. It is… morbidly fitting.” 

She seemed to struggle through those last two words, but her face was once more clear of all emotion in no time. Harry, for his part, was so frozen in horror by the idea of a child being raised as a sacrificial lamb for slaughter that he didn’t even realize Riddle’s wand was aimed at him once more.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, midnight is approaching. I do have a ritual to set up if this plan is to work.”

And with a flick of her wand, Harry found himself gagged and could do little more than watch the proceedings unfold.

_**Soon after, back in Gilderoy Lockhart’s office…** _

Gilderoy was sitting anxiously behind his desk, watching the crystal sitting in front of him with a great deal of restlessness. A knock on his office door nearly had him leaping from his chair. For a moment, he thought the Unspeakables had arrived and came to his office with no warning from Croaker. That would have been most unlike the man, who was perhaps the most obsessive planner Gilderoy had ever met. For Saul Croaker to do or allow anything to be done that was at all spontaneous would be very out of character for him.

“Enter,” called Lockhart, fingering his wand and preparing to react at a moment’s notice if needed. 

Whatever he had expected, it had not been Charlus Potter and Hermione Granger.

Lockhart pierced them with a stare and saw the odd expressions on their faces. He looked directly at Charlus. “I am going to hope you have a magnificently relevant reason for being here, or else there are a lot of problems that are going to stem from this little escapade of yours.”

“We do, sir,” said Charlus, walking forward and laying the piece of parchment from Dumbledore on Lockhart’s desk.

The man’s eyes bulged as he read over the letter, and his gaze quickly flickered from the crystal and then back to the letter.

He was supposed to be on call in case the DoM needed to get in contact with him, but this was something he could not leave untouched. He could contact Croaker, or go for another member of staff, but time was not on his side. The conversation with Croaker would likely stretch on for far longer than he wanted, especially since even he had never heard of the basilisk beyond myths and legends told to him on his travels years earlier. 

And the other professors…

They weren’t trained to fight, and it would be a lot of unnecessary explaining. He was the most qualified man in the castle for the job and if he couldn’t do it, nobody could. If overconfidence turned out to be his downfall, at least it had been for a noble cause.

“We need to locate the entrance as soon as possible,” said Lockhart, sweeping to his feet, wand in hand.

“Sir,” said Hermione, sounding rather sheepish. “We think we know where the entrance is already.”

Oh, Merlin… it was going to be one of those nights.

If he survived the coming ordeal, he was going to break out a bottle of Ogden’s finest and get exceptionally plastered.

But first, he had a meeting with the perfect killing machine that he really ought to be on time for.

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room…** _

When Snape had left, the common room had fallen into complete and total disarray. Chaos ensued for quite sometime before Blaise, Charlotte, and Tracey managed to slip off from the rest, including their other friends.

Their ideal destination would have been the Speaker’s Den, but Harry had changed the password so many times this year that none of them even knew what it was at this point. 

They eventually settled for the boys’ dormitory, because apparently, females could enter their dorm, and not the other way around. If Blaise was not so utterly distracted by far more important things, he might have thought that to be utter bollocks.

They hadn’t even managed to put wards up on the door before Calypso and the Carrows burst through it. Blaise, Charlotte, and Tracey raised their wands, but they faltered. 

“Don’t bother trying to pretend nothing was going on,” said Calypso. “He’s our friend as much as he is yours, and he’s not the first of our closest friends to go missing. We’ve had enough of it.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Blaise, “but none of our concern does him much good, does it? It’s not as though any of us know where the Chamber of Secrets is or how to enter it.”

“I may have an idea,” came a cool voice from the door. 

They all turned to see Grace standing there, wand in hand as she casually strode through the doorway. Unlike the others, she wasted no time in locking and warding the room.

“And how would you know about this?” asked Calypso. Her voice was rather tight, and she seemed very much on edge.

“Because I’ve had a very subtle, very illegal Tracking Charm on a piece of Harry’s jewelry for months. The last place I know he happened to be was right around the place where the Heir’s message is written on the wall. After that, he vanished, and even my charm can’t find him.” She fixed them all with a hard look. “Seeing as the only room near there which could house a secret passage is the girl’s bathroom, I think it fairly likely we have our answer.”

“Hang on,” said Tracey, “if these Tracking Charms exist, why weren’t they put on every student once some of them started to go missing?”

“They are illegal for one thing,” said Hestia, “and they’re only supposed to last for a couple of days at best.” She turned her eyes on Grace. “Having one last for months shouldn’t even be possible.”

If the situation was less dire, Grace may have smirked. “A secret, I’m afraid.”

“Well, enough wasting time,” said Charlotte, “let’s go.”

“You are not coming,” said Grace, her voice as forceful as a speeding bludger.

“He’s as close to me as he is you!” snarled Charlotte. Grace had never heard so much venom and resoluteness in her little sister’s voice. 

“Daphne is down there too,” put in Tracey. “They’re my two best friends.” She winced and looked towards Blaise. “Sorry, Blaise.” He waved away her concerns. “I’m not just going to let other people go after them. I know I can’t do much compared to most of you, but I’ll be a distraction or something if I need to. I’m sure I can do something… anything.”

“Fine,” agreed Calypso. “We’ll all go then. Just know that anyone coming knows the risks full well. No one can be blamed for what happens to you.”

“Shouldn’t we get a professor?” asked Tracey.

“No,” said Grace at once. “They probably wouldn’t let us finish, I would likely be prosecuted for using _very_ illegal magic, and it would take time to find one.”

Nobody argued further.

Grace swept her wand in a long, elaborate motion over all of them, and several gasps could be heard from the lower years as they faded right out of sight.

Calypso made to move, but she faltered when she realized that movement did not cause so much as a flicker in the charm.

Grace Weitts had managed to cast a Disillusionment Charm so perfect that, even while moving, it afforded completely impenetrable invisibility. The only one she had ever heard to have been capable of that was the Dark Lady. It put into perspective just how talented Weitts really was. Charms might have been her best subject, but even with the spell falling under that branch, it didn’t make the feat any less impressive.

Grace lit her wand so they all had something to follow, and then she marched out of the dormitory, and the journey up to the second floor began.

_**A minute or so later, on the second floor…** _

Charlus, Hermione and Lockhart burst through the door, charging into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with their wands held aloft. There were no threats in sight, but that did not alleviate any of the tension gathered in the group.

“Myrtle!” cried Charlus. “We need to talk to you!”

There was no answer.

“Myrtle!” shouted Lockhart with a stunning amount of authority. “I am Gilderoy Lockhart: Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and five time winner of _Witch Weekly’s_ Most-Charming-Smile Award. As a professor of this institution and a proud member of this society, I command your presence and your compliance!”

There was a moment’s pause before the ghost rose from one of the toilets, arms crossed petulantly as she glared towards the two wizards and one witch who were intruding upon her haunt. “What?”

“We want to know how you died.” 

Hermione hit Charlus on the arm as soon as he had finished his sentence, sure his rudeness had lost them any opportunity they had at extracting the truth from Moaning Myrtle. To their collective surprise, Myrtle’s eyes widened, but there was no hint of offence within them. Instead, there seemed to be… glee?

“Oh, that is a good story,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips for the first time of any of their memories. 

“Can you tell it?” asked Charlus, making his best puppy-dog eyes at Myrtle.

“Well,” she began, “I was in a stall — this stall, actually — because Olive Hornby had been making fun of me and my glasses again. Then… I heard something.”

“Something?” pressed Lockhart.

“Yes, something. I had no idea what it was. It sounded like stone grinding on stone. It was very loud and I was very confused.” She shuddered, obviously not quite over the next part of her tale. “Then I heard… hissing. Lots of hissing, but… it didn’t quite sound like a snake. I was confused, so I opened my stall and saw these huge, yellow eyes. Then my body went all limp and my vision started going black. I think I was going to pass out, but I fell and hit my head on the floor before that could happen. The fall must have killed me because I just floated up out of my body a few minutes later.”

“Possibly blood loss,” muttered Lockhart. “Maybe even the swelling of the brain getting out of hand.”

“It confirms what Professor Dumbledore wrote though, doesn’t it?” asked Hermione.

“I’m not sure I would go as far as to say confirmed, but it definitely sounds like the old chap knew what he was on about.” Lockhart glanced around the bathroom before looking back at Myrtle. “Where did you see these eyes, Myrtle?”

She shrugged. “Somewhere over there.” She gestured in the direction of the sinks, and all three of them converged on them.

“That would make sense,” Hermione was saying as Lockhart withdrew his wand and began to mutter in languages neither student had ever heard before. “Professor Dumbledore thought it was using the pipes.”

Lockhart’s muttering persisted for some minutes, but it was eventually Charlus who found the entrance. Clearly, Slytherin had warded it against whatever sort of magic Lockhart was trying to use to ascertain its location and properties.

“Professor, Hermione, I think it’s here.” They swarmed forward, and Charlus indicated the small snake emblazoned upon the sink. It was a carving so small and rough that at a first glance, one would have thought it a simple scratch or depression that had formed due to the weathering brought on by time. 

“Here’s how this is going to work,” said Lockhart, peering sternly at both students as the grip he held on his wand tightened noticeably. “Charlus, you’re going to open the entrance. Just try hissing at it in Parseltongue. Try things like open, reveal yourself, show yourself, you know, all the horrible cliches and whatnot. If it opens, I’ll go down into the Chamber of Secrets. I want both of you to go and find the other professors. I’ll do my best down there, but if worse comes to worst, I’ll stall for time. Do you understand?” Charlus and Hermione nodded, though both of them knew the other was thinking the same thing. “Alright then; Charlus, you’re up.”

Charlus stepped forward as the others took a step back, wands still raised and poised to strike at any moment. “Uh…. open.”

Hermione shook her head. “English.”

Fidgeting uncomfortably and tapping his foot restlessly, Charlus narrowed his eyes at the serpentine carving. If he looked at it in just the right way, the light seemed to give off the false impression of movement. **“Open!”**

Myrtle’s description had been apt. As soon as Charlus finished hissing the final syllable, the sound of stone grinding upon stone made itself known. Charlus stepped back just as the entire sink slid aside, revealing a massive tube that seemed to plunge into the depths of the castle itself. It was easily large enough for many humans at a time, and all three of them suddenly had no problem believing a massive killing machine could have slithered up the tube’s grimy interior.

Lockhart’s eyes cut from Charlus and Hermione back to the tube as he began his examination. The latter nodded towards Lockhart’s wand, which was held in a tight and ready grip. It was glowing faintly red, and both of them knew Lockhart was going to make sure they couldn’t follow if they didn’t leave the room or act fast in the next couple of seconds.

They acted. 

Charlus lunged forward, intent on shoving Lockhart down the massive tube and following. The man was fast and he sidestepped on instinct alone, which had the unfortunate side effect of him stumbling into a nearby sink. Hermione and Charlus bolted for the tube, but Lockhart rushed forward, wand outstretched and lunged. Charlus tackled Hermione out of the way, and Lockhart sailed past them… right down the tube and into the belly of the castle itself.

Charlus stood and Hermione made to follow, but a wand was shockingly in her face before she could even consider it. “C-C-Charlus?”

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said with genuine regret in his voice. Hermione couldn’t help but think he looked much older than normal as he peered down at her. “I can’t let you do this one. It’s more dangerous than anything we’ve ever done. Professor Lockhart is an expert and my plan is to hope the basilisk will listen to me if I speak in Parseltongue, but I don’t know what I would do if you were hurt. It’s been hard enough without Ron.”

And before Hermione could retort, there was a flash of red light, and she saw no more.

_**About three minutes later, in the Chamber of Secrets…** _

Harry watched numbly as the final runes were carved into the floor. All of their blood had been used to draw them, but most of them had only needed to give a trivial amount. Ares had seen a considerable amount taken, but nothing detrimental. 

With Harry’s wand, Riddle had levitated a massive snakeskin to lay in the centre of the circle of victims, not far from where Ares’s body lay prone and unmoving. It had been folded through the use of magic many times so it would fit in the middle. Harry was no expert, but the way Riddle had spoken of symbolism, he thought the shedding of old skin and the growing of a new one probably had something to do with its significance. That, and the fact that it likely came from an inherently magical serpent. Its properties likely fuelled the ritual just as much, if not more than the symbolism it provided.

Riddle herself had stepped into the centre of the circle now, and she began to chant in a language Harry did not recognize. It was nothing he had ever heard spoken aloud. It certainly wasn’t any modern European tongue, and it didn’t sound Asian in origin either; not that he was an expert on the matter, by any means.

As she chanted, the runes on the floor began to glow with bright, white light, and the blood upon their surface began to sizzle. Then, Harry felt something… indescribable. It felt as though somebody had hooked something in the pit of his stomach and they were very slowly dragging it up towards his throat. Or at least, they were trying to, for the thing — his soul, he imagined — didn’t seem to want to be dragged. The pain was immense, and Harry’s vision swam in front of his eyes. He was not so out of it that he didn’t hear the grinding of stone as the chamber door opened, though, nor did he miss the mental signal his ring provided. 

Riddle very nearly was, but she continued her chanting despite it. Her voice had long ago risen, and the words she had spoken had quickened. The light all around the room had brightened and the cavernous chamber that had been lowly-lit when Harry first entered was now bright enough to give the impression of daylight.

Charlus and Professor Lockhart — the latter of whom only allowed the former to accompany him when the potential benefits of Parseltongue had been proposed as an argument — burst into the chamber, both wands trained on Riddle.

But it was already too late.

She thrust her wand into the air and magic seemed to hum all around the room. Its volume rose as an invisible wind whipped the chamber, and the ethereal thrum of magic became louder and louder. The only thing Harry had ever experienced that had been on a comparable level had been the cyclone of raw Chaos Magic that had formed in the centre of the Great Hall when Snape had shattered the manifestation of Priori Incantatem.

Riddle’s eyes — which had been closed for the duration of her ritual — snapped open as her face curved into a triumphant smile. Harry could feel the pull on his soul strengthen as his vision began to darken, but he didn’t seem to be the most directly affected. A small amount of a silvery and bright substance resembling vapour had poured out from Lilian Moon, and it was floating towards Ares, whose body was now glowing.

The ritual was in motion.

“It’s over, Riddle!” There was so much hatred in Lockhart’s voice that it took Harry aback. He was so surprised, that he didn’t even wonder how he knew who Riddle was.

“Yes, Professor, it is — you’ve lost. The ritual is underway. When the clock strikes midnight, I will be reborn in the body of Ares Black.”

“Reborn?” asked Charlus. “What… what are you?”

“For now, we can call me a memory,” said Riddle. “A memory of myself at sixteen, preserved in a diary for fifty years.” Her eyes landed on Charlus, but Harry’s found Lockhart, who suddenly looked as though he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. “I’m afraid we’re short on time, Charlus, but don’t worry. When this is all over, we have much to discuss.”

“Like what?” asked Charlus, his voice shaking with rage as his eyes landed on Harry and the other bound and helpless captives.

“Like how as an infant, you managed to vanquish the most powerful sorceress the world has ever seen while Lady Voldemort left with her powers broken and within an inch of her life.”

Charlus looked confused. “Why do you care about Voldemort—”

“Charlus,” snapped Lockhart. “She cares about Voldemort because she is Voldemort.” He paused as Charlus gaped. “Or… she is set to become Voldemort… at least, she did become her, in a sense.”

“Technically speaking, I have never become Lady Voldemort. I have been stagnant for fifty long years. The me who created the diary has, and they ensured I would have the single-minded compulsion to ret—” Something Riddle said had struck a chord within Lockhart for his wand whipped up and towards the diary. “No!” hissed Riddle, sweeping her wand outwards towards Lockhart. 

An invisible shockwave emanated out from the tip of her wand, and Lockhart was blasted twenty feet back and landed in a roll, coming back up to his feet with his wand raised.

Charlus made to raise his own wand, but Riddle wasn’t even focused on him. 

She had conjured a silver barrier of energy around herself to stall Lockhart’s advances and she had now turned to the statue which towered above them all and hissed.

**“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.”**

Then, three things happened all at once.

The face of the statue began to move as the sound of grinding stone was discernible once more. Harry saw the statue’s mouth opening wide, and he could see something massive moving inside. Charlus must have seen his eyes moving, for he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Don’t look at it! Its gaze can petrify! That’s how all the students have been going missing!”

Through instinct or Natural Legilimency — Harry wasn’t sure — but he knew at once that Charlus was being honest and he averted his eyes from the massive statue of his house’s founder.

He looked away in time to see the next two things transpire.

One was accompanied by an ethereal sound the likes of which Harry had never heard before. Just listening to it seemed to fill him to the brim with energy as fire seemed to alight inside his chest and his very blood seemed to morph into something resembling adrenaline. 

Along with the sound was a blinding flash of fire so bright that even the mighty serpent paused its descent down from the mouth of its one-time master.

Dumbledore’s phoenix had appeared atop one of the pillars, and it let out one more unearthly cry before it spread its wings and took off, just as Harry heard the unmistakable sound of a massive body hitting the chamber floor that obviously meant the snake was free.

The last thing he saw before his eyes were drawn to the third simultaneous occurrence was the phoenix drop an old, battered hat into Charlus’s hands just before it flew towards the mighty serpent with a spine-tingling cry of battle.

The other event Harry had looked away in time to see was two figures sprinting into the chamber through the still-open door. Two figures who had obviously heeded Charlus’s warning, for their eyes were looking anywhere but at the massive snake. Two figures who Harry most certainly had not expected to see there at all.

_**Minutes earlier, back in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom…** _

The wards that Lockhart had hastily conjured over the bathroom door upon his entrance had given the room away to Charlotte, who had picked up on their presence quickly enough. The ward had been hastily conjured, so Grace and Calypso had little trouble in taking it down and exploding into the bathroom.

One of the sinks was not in place, and a massive tube seemed to stretch down so far that none of them could see where it ended. Hermione Granger’s limp body was on the floor, and Tracey immediately rushed forward and knelt, putting a hand to the girl’s wrist to check her pulse. “She’s alive,” Tracey confirmed as the others walked further into the room.

“Well, this was easier than I thought it would be,” said Charlotte, eyes narrowing as the grip on her wand tightened.

It happened so fast few in the room had time to move.

Grace whipped her wand towards her sister, and a bolt of silver light exploded from its tip. Charlotte, wide-eyed and shocked, raised her wand to shield, but she wasn’t fast enough. The spell hit her in the chest and she slumped unconsciously to the floor. 

But the silver bolt didn’t stop there.

As soon as it hit Charlotte, it bounced off of her chest and hit Tracey’s back, sending her to the floor before bouncing towards Blaise, who dove out of the way, causing the spell to ricochet off the wall before it flew at Hestia, who finally ended the spell with a well-cast Shield Charm.

Blaise’s body hit the floor next. He had dodged the spell, but Calypso’s silent Stunner had caught him in mid-dive.

“What the fuck is going on?” asked Hestia, glaring from Grace to Calypso and back again.

“It’s nothing personal, Hestia,” said Calypso sympathetically. “It’s just that none of you are qualified enough to deal with whomever the Heir of Slytherin is.”

She and Grace struck at once, and the Carrows fell within seconds.

“For the record,” said Grace, “you’re not qualified enough, either. It would just take more time to stun you than the others, and that’s time I’m not willing to waste right now.”

Calypso smiled thinly. “I guess I’ll just have to show you how qualified I really am.”

_**Back in the present…** _

Grace and Calypso ran forward, trying to decide where they were most needed. Charlus, who had been closest to the statue, dove to the side when the massive snake landed on the floor. Fawkes was swooping around the thing’s head, dodging and weaving as he did so.

Closer to Harry, Lockhart was locked in a futile duel against Riddle. It seemed that at the moment, Riddle was in a similar position to Peeves. She could physically interact with things, but only when she wanted to. Harry did notice that her spells were slowing down very quickly, and he remembered what she had mentioned about fatigue in her current state. The unfortunate thing for Lockhart was that she didn’t need to cast much, since none of his spells had any effect on her. It was clear he knew this as well, and it was equally clear his target wasn’t her, but the diary, which she was protecting with the ferocity of a mother dragon.

A horrible hissing sound drew Harry’s attention, and he chanced a glance through mostly closed eyes towards the snake and the phoenix. Blood seemed to pour from the serpent’s head, and he realized almost at once that its eyes had been gouged out.

Grace and Calypso now rushed forward, knowing that its gaze was no longer going to tear consciousness away from them. The beast was still exceptionally dangerous though, which was probably why the two girls branched off in slightly different directions, and it was probably why Grace opened the fight with the most powerful spell in her arsenal.

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!”

The snake tried to lunge in the direction of the voice, but the very air seemed to bend around it and fight against its movements. Grace cried out with the strain of maintaining the spell, but the basilisk was thrown hard into the wall of the chamber, shaking the very room and causing bits of stone and dust to fall from the ceiling high above them.

Calypso showered the fallen serpent with every spell she knew, and Harry had a feeling most of them would have been fatal to a human, but they all glanced harmlessly off of the basilisk’s scales.

Speaking of Harry, his heart was racing at a million miles an hour and he would have screamed bloody murder born from agony the likes of which he had never experienced before if he hadn’t been magically gagged and silenced. 

The same silvery vapour that had escaped from Lillian had now exited the bodies of Fred and George Weasley, Cassius, Colin, and Daphne. Harry was the only one left now, and he instinctively knew that when it escaped him and floated over to Ares’s body — which was now surrounded by a silvery halo of light almost as bright as the still glowing runes on the floor — that the ritual would be complete, and the teenager who had become Lady Voldemort would be reborn.

The pull on his soul was intensifying.

It was what would have made him scream if he could. The explosion of pain from his scar in the catacombs last year hadn’t held a candle to this. Years later, after being subjected to the full horrors of the Cruciatus Curse, Harry would vehemently swear that the pain of his soul on the brink of being damaged had been far more painful than even the unforgivable torture curse.

He couldn’t see anything anymore, for his vision was clouded and distorted from the pain, but he could hear something nearby that resembled the flapping of wings. Then he felt weightless, and he was sure the ritual had been completed.

Until his vision cleared and he realized he was no longer bound, nor was he even sitting in the circle of captives.

Fawkes circled him protectively, and Harry realized the phoenix had cut his bindings with its beak or something else and physically pulled him out of the circle.

His mind was still clouded and he couldn’t quite manage to stand, but his vision was clear.

Something was happening in the ritual circle. The halo of silver light around Ares was glowing even brighter but now, to Harry’s confusion, a silvery stream of vapour seemed to be escaping her, which made no sense since she was supposed to be the vessel for the ritual. 

But that wasn’t what drew Harry’s attention.

What drew Harry’s attention was Riddle, who had managed to knock Lockhart to the floor once more and who had turned her wand in the direction of Calypso, who was standing over the snake — writhing against invisible bindings that seemed to be comprised of the air itself — as she aimed at its throat.

Harry knew what Riddle was going to do, and Calypso’s back was turned.

He couldn’t let it happen.

“AVADA—”

“AEGIS!”

Harry screamed the activation phrase, and impenetrable blackness poured from his chain, filling the chamber in less than a second and causing Riddle’s Killing Curse to miss, though nobody could see it. 

Harry heard a loud whooshing sound and his brother crying out before green fire — like that which Selwyn had conjured — poured from Riddle’s wand and burnt away the blackness.

When it cleared, all in the room froze, but one, lone figure.

The figure of Charlus Potter, standing atop the basilisk’s head as Fawkes — who had obviously transported him there via flame travel — flew away. What was perhaps even more incredible was that Charlus was holding a long, silver sword encrusted with massive, vibrant rubies. 

For nearly a second, nobody moved — not even the snake.

Then, with a feral cry of war, Charlus rose the sword high above his head and drove it straight down into the skull of the serpent with as much force as he could manage.

Riddle screamed in fury as the serpent hissed and flailed, sending Charlus flying like a carelessly discarded action figure thrown by a raging child.

Lockhart aimed his wand towards the diary whilst Riddle was distracted by the dying basilisk, but it mattered not.

The silver halo of light around Ares — now added to by the silvery vapour that had escaped her mouth — swirled and coalesced into a cyclone, not unlike the one in the Great Hall back in December. Lockhart’s wand shifted towards that, but it was too late.

The cyclone surged towards Riddle and enveloped her still blurry, semi-corporeal form.

She screamed — a high-pitched sound — as she was completely enveloped by the silvery light. It was so bright that not an inch of her could be seen, and the runes around the room, still humming with the audible drone of magic, gave one final blinding flash of magic before they dimmed in unison with the cyclone’s dissipation. 

Riddle’s body slumped motionless to the floor, but there was an obvious difference from moments before.

There were no hazy, ethereal edges.

She was as solid and lifelike as all the rest of them.

And that was when Harry realized what had happened.

Seven bodies were required for the ritual, at least the way Riddle had set it up. There had been seven captives, plus Ares, who had been the target of the ritual. When Fawkes had removed Harry from the confines of the circle, there had still been seven bodies. The ritual had just switched Ares’s role from the recipient to another donor and instead transferred the life straight into Riddle’s semi-solid form.

She was alive once more, it just hadn’t gone the way she had planned.

Harry couldn’t allow it.

Not after what this bitch had put him through this year. Not after she had taken Daphne, Cassius, and so many others.

His vision was tinged red for the first time since his savage thrashing of Malfoy as he unsteadily clambered to his feet and held out his hand. His wand — which Riddle had dropped after falling — flew into his grip, and he aimed it straight at Riddle’s neck.

“LACER—”

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Harry’s wand flew from his hand and soared in a wide arc before it was caught in the grasp of Gilderoy Lockhart, who was looking towards Harry with a dark expression.

“YOU!” exclaimed Harry. “The light zealot stops me from—”

“Let me explain,” said Lockhart. “If all of you still believe after what I say that Emily Riddle deserves death, I won’t stop you, but listen to my words very carefully.” 

“What could you possibly say that would change my mind?” asked Harry.

“A bit about the diary, and a bit about soul magic,” said Lockhart. “But first, let me tell you a story about the Legacy of Katalysator.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know it took a LONG TIME to get here, but the confrontation in the Chamber of Secrets is in the books. I hope you all enjoyed it, and nobody can claim anything about a canon rehash in the reviews this year :)**
> 
> **Next: the story of the Lockharts, of Emily Riddle, and of the horrors of the twentieth century.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, January 30th, 2021. Or you can read the next chapter by joining my Discord server or by signing up to my P*T*E*N page.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Chocolate, Devildestroyer, hyuck, Pathological Liar, Sectumus Prince, and Sesc for their corrections/contributions this week.**
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	34. The Legacy of Katalysator Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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> 
> **I don’t like doing these prior to chapters, but I feel it’s necessary here:**
> 
> **Both parts of this chapter are darker than what I normally write. There is nothing graphic in this first part, but it deals with very dark themes and ideas. I would like to warn all of you of this now, as well as make very clear that I do not support any of these ideas. My characters and plots are not always reflective of my beliefs, but what I feel is best for the story.**
> 
> **With that out of the way, read on!**
> 
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_**October 6, 1939  
Warsaw, Poland  
7:34 AM** _

Six-year-old Gideon Lockhart was jolted out of his sleep when he felt his shoulder being shaken with the vigour one might expect from a child holding a shiny new trinket. He was immediately snapped out of his idle dreams with the suddenness of a well-disguised land mine despite having been deep in sleep only a moment before. 

“W-w-what is it?” he asked sleepily and through a rather comical yawn. On a normal occasion, the yawn may have drawn a laugh from his mother, Avigail, but now, she did not smile or laugh. 

Even young Gideon wasn’t naive enough to miss the fact that something was different about this morning. His mother didn’t look angry, per se, though she was wearing an expression that Gideon had never seen before. It was an expression that confused his young mind, but he could at least realize that something about this morning was different.

“Gideon, get dressed, now!” Her voice was not loud, but it was as commanding as it had ever been, and Gideon quickly scrambled to obey.

“Mama, what’s going on?”

“Your tata and I will explain it to you later, but you need to get dressed now. Just wear those.” 

She pointed at the clothes that he had carelessly discarded on his bedroom floor the night previous. This confused Gideon even more. His mother was usually very strict when it came to keeping everything neat and clean, and his young brain was quickly sounding alarm bells. She had not only ignored the fact that he had thrown his clothes on the floor, but she was actively telling him to wear them. He had always been a sharp boy for his age, and he was smart enough even at six not to ponder for too long. He just ran over to the pile of clothes and slipped into them as quickly as he could. 

“Okay, now come with me,” his mother said, taking a painfully tight grip on his hand and dragging him out of his bedroom and onto the second-story landing of their home.

The Lockhart family was reasonably well-off. They weren’t rich by any means, but Avigail worked as a healer in the magical sector of Warsaw. Gideon’s father, Gavriel, worked as a lawyer in the muggle world. Their two salaries were enough for the little family to live in a modern, elegant, and fairly large home on the outskirts of the city. For the Lockhart parents, it was the perfect place to raise a child. Much of Poland’s wizarding population lived near the outskirts of the capital city, as it provided them with some seclusion from the muggles who would have become suspicious if they saw too much. It was all too easy to take their young son into the city proper once or twice a week to allow him to acquaint himself with muggle culture as well as wizarding society. It was something Avigail and Gavriel had been insistent about for as long as Gideon could remember. 

Gideon was more than happy. His room presented him with a rather splendid view, and he enjoyed the excess of land that came with the Lockhart family home. He was a very active boy and much of his time was spent running freely through the massive field that took up most of the property.

Unfortunately, on this day, living on the outskirts of Warsaw was not such a blessing.

Poland had been under fire for several weeks now, both on the muggle and magical side. The muggles were quickly losing their battle with the German and Soviet troops, and the magicals weren’t in much better shape. They had nearly fallen the day before last but had just managed to force Grindelwald’s soldiers back out of Warsaw.

Now, two days later, the sun began to rise over the Polish capital and sparkled prettily off of the early morning dew, which seemed to glint and twinkle under its all-powerful beams of light. None in Warsaw were prepared for what would come next. 

Being on the outskirts of Warsaw put the Lockharts on the front line, so to speak, but it also gave them easy access out of the city. Not to mention that they would be among the first to hear the approach of the red-cloaked figures with large hoods and magical masks.

Six-year-old Gideon Lockhart understood none of this as he allowed himself to be sleepily led down the stairs, through the sitting room, and out towards the front door, where his tata was waiting for his wife and son. 

Without a word, the man quickly passed his wife a jacket as he coaxed his son into his own coat. “You stick with me and your mama!” his father told him sharply. The tone of voice took Gideon aback. His father was an extremely cheerful man and he had rarely — if ever — spoken to his son in this manner. “You understand me?”

Gideon nodded as angry butterflies began to flutter and swarm inside of his stomach. His young instincts were screaming at him that something was terribly wrong.

“Yes, Tata,” he said, earning himself a curt nod in return as his parents both pulled long, wooden sticks from their sleeves. Long, wooden sticks that Gideon instantly recognized as their wands.

The two parents exchanged looks before Avigail retook Gideon’s hand and the three Lockharts marched quickly out of their home. 

Gideon could hear screaming from somewhere nearby. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his heart beat faster. It was a raw, high-pitched sound; one that could only be elicited through the most heinous of actions. There were other sounds too. More distant shouting, but not necessarily screaming.

“Quick,” said Gavriel, indicating an alleyway down the street that would lead them through a cluster of low-ceilinged buildings. “There!”

Before the Lockharts could move, hell arrived in Warsaw.

The very air seemed to shimmer as a translucent barrier rose on all sides, encompassing the whole city as it did so. The Lockharts froze at the sight, but it wasn’t the part that would haunt Gideon’s nightmares for some time.

That particular trigger would be the sun being snuffed out.

Or, that was what it looked like, at least. 

All at once, the city was plunged into complete and total blackness so absolute that Gideon’s eyes couldn’t perceive anything at all. He idly held up his hand, but he couldn’t see it, no matter how he held it. Pitch-black wasn’t a strong enough phrase. This wasn’t nightfall or any such instance that might trigger a relative absence of light. This was something different altogether. This was like if the very air had been coated with a layer of black paint so thick that no light could penetrate it.

That was when the real screaming started.

Thunderous explosions rang out on all sides, and more screams than Gideon could comprehend followed them in short order. The dark world around him had been transformed into something out of a horror movie. With one’s sight being torn away from them, but their hearing being assaulted by a cacophony of horrible, never-ending screams.

“Kurwa!” cursed Gavriel. “Avigail! Gideon! Where are you!?”

“Here,” called Avigail, reaching out blindly and somehow managing to find her husband’s hand. 

“Lumos,” hissed Gavriel. His voice was soft, for he was trying to make as little noise as possible as they scampered through the now crowded streets like scurrying rats fleeing a dangerous predator.

Nothing happened.

There wasn’t even a sign of his wand flickering, which made the man curse again. He muttered the incantation for a second time, but there were still no results.

“Gavriel, the alleyway,” whispered Avigail. 

Gavriel nodded, though none could see him do so. The sounds of oncoming danger were drawing closer, so he hastily uttered his agreement before the three Lockharts staggered blindly down the street, trying to ignore the mounting panic as trouble drew nearer.

They stumbled into men, women and children along the way, but they did eventually reach what they thought was the alleyway. 

“Quick,” hissed Gavriel, and they increased their cadence. 

This particular alleyway was dark at the best of times, and it was quite long. It took one through a larger sector of the outskirts of Warsaw, by far the quickest and most efficient nearby way of leaving the city. 

Despite the fact, the Lockharts’ first move wasn’t to scamper down the alley to safety.

“Gideon, hold on tight.” his mother told him. Gideon clutched at her hand like a lifeline as she whirled around on the spot, focusing with both deliberation and determination on a very specific destination.

Nothing happened once again.

“Kurwa!” cursed Gavriel. “Whatever they have up around the city is containing us. That barrier; it’s probably connected to the darkness, and it obviously has some sort of anti-apparition ward tied in.”

“Let’s keep going,” said Avigail. “There’s no way they covered all of Warszawa in anti-apparition wards, that’s not p—” but as she said it, the wall beside them exploded.

Gideon and Avigail screamed as they were pulled to the ground with a shocking amount of force. Avigail’s grip on Gavriel’s hand slipped, and he was lost to them almost at once. 

Though neither Avigail nor Gideon could see it, Gavriel was thrown to the side. Avigail, still maintaining a hold on Gideon’s hand, quickly dragged them both to their feet. She made to run but faltered. It was too dark to see, but both mother and son felt the magic soar just inches from their face, though not even the faintest impression of it penetrated the all-consuming blackness hanging in the air all around them.

Gideon heard scuffling from both sides. On one side, multiple heavy footfalls were obvious. Red-cloaked men were approaching through the hole he had blasted in the nearby wall, though of course, none of the Lockharts could see this. These men, on the other hand, could see through the darkness without much issue, courtesy of the countless number of small, intricate runes lining the masks they wore.

Gideon himself was more focused on his other side, where he could hear a hastier sounding scramble as his father stood up again. There was an odd sort of scent hanging in the air that Gideon could not place. He would have been rather terrified had he been able to see the copious amounts of blood oozing from his tata’s shoulder. There was far more blood than the countless number of times Gideon had fallen and scraped his knees. 

Gavriel seemed not to notice, at least to the men who could see what was happening. With an odd, snarling noise, he hurled his own jet of magic back in the direction of the other new scuffling sound in the alley. A man in a red cloak barely managed to step to the side in time to dodge the Stunner which only his companions and he could see. He saw and stepped towards a garbage can as he dodged. 

Gavriel only knew it was coming at him due to the sound it made as it flew through the air. It wasn’t loud but in the absence of sight, one’s hearing tended to pick things up it would normally have missed. He sent flames towards the oncoming sound, which quickly lit the garbage on fire. A Banishing Hex just managed to graze it, but it was still enough to send it soaring back towards the man who had initially used it. The man’s cloak brushed against the flames and he cried out in pain as the fire licked at his leg. Before he could put it out, he had been hit with a jet of purple light and slumped to the ground. His scream had given him away, and he was an easy target because of it.

The other sounds were not far away now. They were on top of them and coming from all sides and angles. Other walls and structures of similar variety were blown to pieces and people continued to scream. Gideon was clutching his mother’s hand so tightly his own knuckles were white. The boy was doing all he could to hold back terrified tears. 

“Gavriel?” asked Avigail, her voice shaking. “Where are you? Are you… are you—”

“It’s not important, let’s go.” 

Gavriel stumbled towards his wife and son, working off of hearing alone as he tried to ignore the burning feeling in his shoulder, as well as the bits of debris that had lodged themselves in his skin.

“We need to get to the edge of the city,” Gavriel told his wife and son as he neared them, now reaching his unoccupied hand out, trying to feel for them in the darkness. “If we can get to the edge of the city, we might be able to get through—” but he never got to finish his final thought. 

Even Gideon sensed the shift in the world around him. He felt something fly past him, though not as close as the magic from earlier. This time, it felt different. It felt… evil. The very air seemed to sing of its malice, and Gideon shuddered from the odd feeling he got just by being near the spell.

Neither Avigail, Gideon, or Gavriel could see it, but this one bit of light was not red. It was what, in normal circumstances, would have been a blinding flash of green. 

Avigail screamed a scream of utter despair when she heard her husband’s body hit the ground nearby. Somehow, she intuitively knew what had just happened. Meanwhile, her son felt utter confusion. He knew it wasn’t good, but he had no idea what was going on.

Two more men entered through the hole in the wall, though the surviving Lockharts could only tell that there was more than one and the direction they came from because of their heavy footsteps. 

One was exactly like the man who Gavriel had sent to the ground. He wore a pure, blood-red cloak with a black hood and the same mask, runes and all. The other was dressed in the same blood-red cloak, but his had a silver trim, and his hood and mask were of the same red colour. 

He was the one with the wand out; the one who cast the Killing Curse. “Take the boy,” he said calmly. 

His companion nodded silently and rushed towards Gideon, who backed up quickly as he subconsciously realized what was going on.

His mother, though clearly lost to despair, was not yet oblivious and her wand was aimed at the advancing figure a second later. A jet of red light flew towards him, but the man sidestepped as the figure wearing silver trim quickly took aim at Avigail. Though she was no duelist and was absent of sight, Avigail still managed to get off the first curse in their rather short altercation, firing blindly in the direction of the man’s shuffling. 

“Crucio!”

Instead of shielding or dodging, the silver-trimmed man simply allowed the curse to smash into him. For a second, he drew back; all of his features contorted in agony. Then, a split second later, his mirthless laughter filled the alleyway. 

“Foolish girl! You think an incantation is enough to unleash the most powerful of magics? Ha! Allow me to demonstrate properly!” Several curses flowed effortlessly from the man’s wand and before she knew it, Avigail found herself backed into the alley’s corner. Without sight and thereby the ability to dodge, she had no choice but to shield. 

It was at that precise moment that the man in silver trimming, Igor Shevchenko — the right-hand man of Gellert Grindelwald and the man who would later be known as the Warlord of Warsaw — made good on his promise as he slashed his wand towards the final surviving adult of the Lockhart family.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Dimly, as Gideon distraughtly cried out for his parents and the man bore down on him, he knew that neither one of them would ever draw a breath again. He could not explain it, he simply knew.

With this realization came a flash of red light the boy couldn’t see, and Gideon thought no more.

_**October 14, 1939  
Katalysator  
11:26 AM** _

Gideon had woken up in an odd room. It was completely white and the only light came from dimly-lit torches on the walls. It was a windowless room with a door that led out into a corridor with similar doors leading off into rooms that he assumed were much like his own. 

He wasn’t awake for long before the guard came. He was another man in a red cloak — like those who had hurt his parents and taken him here — but he didn’t wear a hood. He had a rather plain-looking face and he told Gideon in heavily accented English that he was not to leave his room. He had threatened the boy with consequences that Gideon had never even heard of before, but he understood the man’s tone of voice well enough to know that they would not be pleasant. 

He had also been told that there would be a more thorough explanation in the coming days. 

Food was delivered three times a day at what felt like the same times each day. Unable to leave his room, Gideon was forced to use a bucket in the corner of the room when he needed to relieve himself. By the second day, the smell had permeated the small space and was unbearable. Gideon frequently found his stomach churning in horrible, nauseating ways.

Books had been dropped off to Gideon with what must have been dinner on his second day, evidently to serve as entertainment, enlightenment, or both. Frankly, the books were very far above Gideon’s reading level, but he valiantly did his best to work through them. From what the young boy could piece together, they were mostly books on spells and history. He had not made it overly far into any of them when a guard entered his room, eight days after he had arrived, and tersely told the boy to follow him. The guard’s nose was upturned and he eyed the unkempt, unwashed boy with a look of disgust.

During the first three days, Gideon had dreamed of escaping from the people who had taken his parents away from him. He hated them more than he hated anything in the world, but Gideon was also a smart boy. He realized that if his parents hadn’t been able to stop these people, he certainly would have no more success than they did — at least not yet. 

Patience was not a virtue any six-year-old on the planet was overly adept in, and Gideon was no exception. Still, he understood enough to know that one day, if he followed instructions well enough that they didn’t hurt him, or perhaps do even worse, Gideon might just be able to make his escape from this place and take his revenge against those people who had taken his parents away from him. 

That realization had not stopped the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks. It still hurt immensely to think about his parents, but by this point, Gideon was fairly certain that he had no tears left to cry. 

Gideon’s thoughts broke off when they came to what must have been their final destination. It was a very large and open room, designed much like a gymnasium but on a much grander scale. Gideon was directed to take a seat on one of the many sets of bleachers that lined one wall. He was one of the first to arrive, but it became evident to him very quickly that many more would follow.

Before long, the bleachers were completely packed and children began to take spots on the floor in front of them. That was another thing that Gideon noticed. 

Everyone who entered the room and took a seat were children. The guards stayed too, but they leaned casually up against one of the walls a ways away and conversed amongst themselves in low voices quietly enough that none of the children could overhear. The room continued to fill for what seemed like ages before, finally, one of the guards nodded and left the room. Simultaneously, another turned towards the bleachers with a hand raised for silence as he pointed his wand directly at his own throat. His voice rang loud and clear through the chamber with no need for the muggle devices that Gideon knew existed in Warsaw and other major cities around the world.

“When the speaker enters, you will all stand and bow your heads in respect. This is not a choice, it is an order. You will wait quietly.” 

And that was it. 

He didn’t need to threaten consequences, the tone of his voice implied more than enough; even for a room full of children between the ages of five and thirteen. With that in mind, none of the gathered children dared to utter a whisper or move a muscle. When the doors to the chamber opened five minutes later, every single one of them stood and bowed their head respectfully before their collective attention focused on the newcomer.

He was not wearing a red cloak. Instead, he was wearing elegant grey robes. He had aristocratic features, platinum blonde hair, and odd, enchanting eyes. Gideon had never seen eyes like these. They were a bluish-silver with odd specs of the latter colour dotted around the iris. When the man smiled at them, he did so with a fair amount of warmth. He had a soft smile that could immediately put any room at ease. The kind of smile that could quickly speed along with the proceedings of a peace treaty between warring nations. 

“Good morning, my friends,” the man began, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire room. With a permissive nod of his head, the children clambered back into their seats. 

“Welcome to the beginning of a new and truly fabulous journey. A journey of enlightenment, of truth, and of conquest. My name is Giaus and it is my job to make sure that you are all integrated smoothly into the society which the great men and women of our organization are building as we speak.” He looked at many of them in turn. “I know that many of you are wondering why you were here. Perhaps you are even angry that you are here at all? Perhaps you are upset with how you came to be here.” 

His face suddenly took on a more serious expression, and Gideon flinched back in his seat. His visage had gone from one of warmth and compassion to a cold, calculating one that practically screamed of finality.

“The truth, my friends, is often a painful but oh-so-glorious thing. On this occasion, the truth is that your parents’ vision was not the one that was best for you, nor for the world at large.” Several children cried out in fury and protest, but they were quickly silenced and frozen in their seats with a few waves of the guards’ wands. Gideon was not foolish enough to react in such a way, even though he felt a bubble of righteous fury swelling within his chest. “I know it is hard,” Giaus’s voice was dripping with false sympathy, “to see the reality of the situation. To overcome the beliefs you have been conditioned to follow. 

“I am asking you, each and every single one of you, to put such foolish beliefs and meaningless pasts behind you. You are now a part of something greater than yourselves, greater than your history. Do not reflect so on the path that could have been. Instead, look forward to the future that will be! The future that will come forth through the contributions of each and every single one of you in the coming years. We, as a united front, will build a society from the ashes of the polluted foundation that we have burnt to the ground. 

“Your new life, my friends, starts today! Help your lord, help every single one of us who believe in his vision. Help the world enter a new era that every single one of you will spearhead and continue. All you need to do is commit every bit of your effort into what we ask of you and repeat four words after me: FOR THE GREATER GOOD!”

“FOR THE GREATER GOOD!” echoed through the chamber as many of the children screamed back at him. Some did so merely because it was fun to play along. Some of the older and smarter children did so because they knew it was their only safe option. Some children, like Gideon, simply mouthed along but didn’t say anything at all.

_**October 16, 1939  
Katalysator  
9:00 AM** _

Gideon was told, as were all of the others, that they would begin their formal education that Monday. 

Some of the older children asked what kind of education they would be undertaking, but the guards — and Giaus — had been rather vague. Gideon had only been through a year of school, but he had liked it quite a bit. He was looking forward to when he was older and magical school was an option, but he had enjoyed the muggle primary school that he had been enrolled in. His father’s parents didn’t have magic, so he knew all about the muggle world. Gavriel had always told Gideon how important it was that he understood that world. He figured that was why his parents had sent him off to a muggle school while he waited to grow big enough and old enough to begin formal magical education.

When Gideon reached the room in which he was supposed to have his classes, the door was already open. When he peered inside — around the guard who was standing in the doorway — it looked quite a bit like his classrooms had in his muggle school. The most prominent difference was the fact that there was no window. At his old school, every classroom had a window, but this one did not. Those rooms were also illuminated by electrical lighting, whereas this room’s walls were lined with torches and balls of bright blue fire floating ominously in the air.

There were several other children who all appeared to be around Gideon’s age gathered around the door. None of them said anything; all of them looked extremely nervous. 

“Your name?” the guard asked Gideon in heavily accented English.

“G-G-Gideon, sir?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, boy?”

“Telling you, sir.” 

The guard nodded. “Your name must be changed with all the others, but at least you have manners.” Gideon’s eyes widened as that sentence sunk in. They were going to change his name? “Perhaps Wernher?” the guard queried.

“I quite like Sigmund, for this one,” said the voice that had lectured them all in the chamber just a couple of days earlier. The children jumped and turned to see the man striding towards them with a smile. “He does fit the image of a noble swordsman, doesn’t he?”

The guard looked over Gideon, allowing his dark eyes to roam over the boy’s golden blonde hair and peer at his deep blue eyes. “It fits,” he agreed, putting away his piece of parchment that he had read the name Wernher from. Suddenly, Gideon realized that all of the children gathered were wearing what must have been nametags on their chests. They were all, he assumed, names that the guard had chosen; probably from that bit of parchment he had been holding. The guard waved his wand, causing a name tag just like all the others to appear on Gideon’s chest. It read:

Sigmund

“Splendid,” Giaus said with a smile, gesturing for the children gathered to enter the classroom. “Go on, my friends; we have much to discuss and much to learn.” 

The guard stepped aside and allowed all of them to enter the room. Gideon was the last child to step inside, followed only by Giaus, who closed the door quietly behind him before instructing them all to sit in alphabetical order by their name tags. This process took some time, but with the help of Giaus, the class managed it. Once they had taken their seats, Giaus stood in front of them with his hands folded over his chest and began his lecture.

“Welcome to the first day of your education. We will be covering a wide range of topics in this class.” He smiled at them all conspiratorially. “One day, we will even cover magic.” 

This got the attention of the young children gathered. Many of them still looked rather depressed, if truth was to be told, but they had all perked up at the mention of magic. It was as if they all just forgot how they had gotten here. “Unfortunately,” Giaus told all of them, “that is still a ways off. Before you can learn the magic that will help to change the world around you, you need to understand that world itself.” He looked out all of them with a pensive expression. “Who here can tell me what a muggle is?” 

Gideon — no, was it Sigmund? Either way, he rose his hand into the air with great apprehension, as did a few others. 

Giaus pointed at Gideon. “Sigmund?” Right, Sigmund.

“A person with no magic.”

“Correct. A muggle is a person who has no magic at all. They are not special; not like us. We have magic that can help us change the world. We have magic that can easily help us do things that would otherwise take large periods of time and a lot of effort. Muggles do not have that magic. Therefore, muggles are lesser than us. Can anybody tell me what ‘lesser than us’ means?” 

Giaus indicated a different boy with a wave of his hand to answer that question. “Not as good as us?”

“Correct. Muggles are weak, but they are sneaky. Back in the very old days, muggles used to hurt witches and wizards. They would catch us by surprise and outnumber us. Then, instead of us witches and wizards punishing them for their crimes, we just let it go. The powers that be left muggles alone for a very, very long time; all because it seemed like too much effort to do something about them. 

“Now, we have let muggles get stronger. They are still weaker than us, but they are stronger than they have ever been before; no longer helpless. They hurt us in the past because they were jealous. They were jealous that we had powers they could never have. They were jealous that we could do things they could never do. They were jealous because we were better than them and they were lesser than us.” He looked out at all of them. “Do you know what they think of us now?” 

No one’s hand rose into the air. 

Sigmund — yes, that was his name now — was confused. His parents had always told him that muggles were just like wizards but without magic, not that they were lesser. He had met his father’s parents and they were very nice to him. But this man, Giaus, was telling him that they were lesser? 

Sigmund didn’t believe him. 

He didn’t know why he would lie, but the people who had taken away his parents hadn’t been nice, so it stood to reason that this man might not be either. He couldn’t think on the matter for too long though, because Giaus was talking again. He talked a lot.

“Muggles think nothing,” he told them. “You remember that I told you instead of paying them back, instead of seeing justice, we let them all be?” The class nodded to confirm they remembered. “Well, a long time ago — the date is not important, at least not yet — witches and wizards decided to make sure that muggles could not find out about magic, just in case they decided to get jealous and start trouble again. The problem is that their plan was not perfect. 

“Sometimes, when they are extremely lucky, muggles can have children just like you all. Children who are special, children who have magic. When this happens, they find out about the world of magic. There are other problems too. Some witches and wizards are careless and do not protect our secrets nearly as well as they should. This plan to keep muggles ignorant is not a good one. This plan will fail if we do not make changes soon.

“But we are making changes; we are making changes as we speak and you have all been brought here for the honour of helping us to make this change. Lord Grindelwald is forging a new world. A world where witches and wizards do not need to be afraid of the sneaky muggles who might find out about us and get jealous. We cannot hide forever. 

“Hiding is showing weakness, hiding is giving the muggles a chance to hurt us again. We must come out of the shadows. Because of those who have not protected our secrets, we must get rid of the secret altogether. Under the banner of Lord Grindelwald, we wizards will exit the shadows. We have hidden from muggles for too long because we were afraid, but my friends, as I told you, they are sneaky, but they are weak — there is no need for us to be afraid.

“We must take control of the muggles and make sure that they will not hurt us, we can not leave this to chance. We have to do it for the good of witches and wizards around the world. We must do it for the greater good.”

_**September 2, 1940  
Katalysator  
9:00 AM** _

After nearly a year in his current circumstances, the boy called Sigmund — formerly known as Gideon — had changed a great deal. For one thing, he no longer hesitated at his name. He was Sigmund now. A part of him still despised that fact. He had decided a long time ago that the views of his parents seemed more correct to him than the views of the people who had chosen to essentially imprison him, and he was still immensely angry with them for taking his parents away from him.

In the days, weeks, and months following their arrival here, Sigmund had seen several children rebel against the system, and on none of those occasions had it ended well for the child in question. The boy who had been renamed Bismarch didn’t return to classes for nearly a month after he was punished. The very thought of what the leaders here may have done to him made Sigmund shudder. If nothing else, the last eleven months had taught him a great deal about patience and self-restraint. As a matter of fact, he knew both better than any seven, nearly eight-year-old should.

Despite all of his teachings, Sigmund didn’t believe everything he was taught. It was a habit that separated him from most of his peers; at least those in a similar age bracket to himself. They had been taught a great deal about reading and writing, so much so that most in their age bracket were several years more advanced in each subject than they would normally be. It was hard not to advance quickly when they all spent six to eight hours a day being taught those skills. It also helped that their only real form of entertainment came in the shape of the vast number of books shelved in the library, to which they were all taken once a week to pick out three tomes of their choosing.

Beyond simple English and German, the children had been taught quite a lot about magical history. Sigmund was certainly sharp for his age. Though he was no genius, even he at the age of seven had started to notice a pattern. 

Most of the history that they learned had to do with witches, wizards and their relationships with muggles. If one looked even deeper, these relationships were pretty much always explained to be bad for the wizards and, in most stories, the muggles were depicted doing awful things. The witch burnings, for example. Sigmund was not by any means defending those; they were awful. Some things though… some things seemed a lot more like Giaus’s opinion than history. 

The man himself had taught them all about history and society. He had been their instructor on that since the day they had first entered his classroom and he would continue to be for years to come. In class, they were instructed to simply call him “Sir”. 

At first, Sigmund had found this rather odd. All of his teachers in muggle primary school had gone by their surnames. When thinking about it, he had realized that Giaus had never even told them his surname. Sigmund found this strange, though he seemed to be one of if not the only child his age to do so. In his head, it just made him trust the man less than he already did.

Another thing Giaus taught them was the history of Gellert Grindelwald. Or, as they were to address him at all times and in all settings — Lord Grindelwald. Giaus often used words like “visionary” and “innovator” to describe him. He was portrayed as a sort of myth to them; a being of such power and prestige that to equal him was unfathomable. They also learned that Lord Grindelwald was the man in charge of the organization that was responsible for educating them, and others like them who had arrived over the last year. They were all of ages from about five to sixteen, from what Sigmund could tell.

Despite all that they learned, most of the children in Sigmund’s age bracket were rather disappointed that magic had not been on that list. They had studied some basic Charms and Transfiguration theory, as well as some math — which was apparently part of a type of magic that Sigmund could never remember the name of. It was hard to say and honestly, Sigmund despised math, so he wasn’t really that excited to learn it. Charms and Transfiguration though? And things like how to duel? They had been told that they would learn all of those things in due time, but as of yet, they had learned none of them.

How ironic that the very fact was about to change.

Sigmund was, as usual, one of the first to enter the classroom. Giaus was already waiting behind his desk, which came as no surprise as the boy formerly known as Gideon. 

After the first few months, the children had been allowed to walk themselves to class. Granted, the guards kept a very close eye on the corridors and Giaus kept a very close eye on attendance to make sure that nobody was abusing that privilege. Even though Sigmund did not agree with a lot of what Giaus had been teaching them, he always arrived early. There just was not a whole lot to do outside of classes and, no matter what was being taught to them, they at least offered something interesting for him to pass the time with.

“Good morning, Sigmund.” 

“Good morning, sir.”

When he took his seat, Sigmund retrieved a book on basic Charms and started to read. Technically, they weren’t supposed to take books on magic from the library before they actually started learning it, but Giaus had written him an exception for outstanding performances in class. A few others had also been granted this privilege, and it had earned them jealous looks from those who had not.

Sigmund did not have much time to read, as the rest of their class promptly made their arrival and Giaus called them to order with three sharp taps of his wand upon his desk. Sigmund immediately closed his book and slid it into his bag; the same bag they had all been given upon their arrival, in which they were to carry their belongings. Along with clothes and some basic books, it was one of the only things the children had been given to keep permanently.

“Good morning, my friends,” Giaus greeted the class. He waited for their customary response of “good morning, sir” before he continued. “Today, I would like to make an announcement. Very soon, we will be starting something that all of you have looked forward to for a very long time. Can anyone guess what that may be?” 

From the looks on several of the faces dotted around the room, it was pretty obvious that many of the children had an idea, but none of them dared speak it. The possibility of having their hopes denied was just one that was too much for any of them to risk. 

“Come now,” prompted Giaus with a wide smile, “I’m sure one of you has an idea?” Tentatively, a tall boy who Sigmund knew to be named Ivan raised his hand. He was another one of the select few who had been given access to the basic books on magic. “Yes, Ivan?”

“Magic?”

The whole class held their collective breath as slowly, the smile on Giaus’s face grew even wider. “Correct.” 

Just like that, the class burst into ecstatic whispers and in a very rare display of laxity, Giaus allowed them a moment of discussion before he fired off a bang from his wand to draw their attention. 

They fell quiet at once, all looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. Even those who had rebelled against this system — and those like Sigmund who disagreed with much of it — looked on in awe, hope and wonder, leaving all of their fundamental disagreements behind. 

“Yes, next Monday, we will be trying our first spell. At the end of today’s class, I will be giving you all a handout that I expect all of you to read and understand by next Monday.

“Now, you are all quite young to be casting magic, so I do not expect any of you to perform well, but Lord Grindelwald started young, as you all know. He believes that it is best for you all to at least gain some experience early. How often we work on magic at your current age will depend on how well or poorly the first few lessons go. 

“To cast magic, you all need something that you do not have. Can anybody tell me what that is?” 

This time, in stark juxtaposition to a minute or so earlier, almost every hand in the classroom went up, and Giaus’s smile turned rather fond as he indicated for Sigmund to answer.

“A wand,” he breathed, hardly daring to believe his own words. He would be practicing magic! He was going to get a wand, just like his parents had used!

The thought of his parents sent an all too familiar pang through his chest, but it was far less painful now than it had been at the beginning. Perhaps Sigmund had just learned how to cope with it, he wasn’t sure. Or perhaps the pain had just been replaced by anger since then. He had known at the time that his parents would not come back. Now, he understood a little bit better what all had happened.

“That’s right, Sigmund,” said Giaus. “We have a brilliant young wandmaker from a very old and respected line of wandmakers.” His expression suddenly became conspiratorial, as if he were about to let them all in on a great secret. “As a matter of fact, this man’s father sold Lord Grindelwald his first wand years and years ago.” 

Most of the children chattered excitedly at that. Some of the ones who had rebelled and still held strong to the beliefs they had been taught prior to their arrival here — few as they were, were — found themselves in a similar mindset to Sigmund. He could care less who made and gave him his wand. The important thing was that he would soon have a wand and he would soon be learning magic.

_**September 6, 1940  
Katalysator  
6:43 PM** _

Sigmund was retrieved from his room just minutes after returning from dinner the Friday following Giaus’s announcement about their fast-approaching foray into magic. The guard who fetched him led Sigmund down several corridors that he never saw before. It suddenly dawned on him how little of the massive complex that he was permitted to explore.

He had absolutely no idea what was going on until he reached the large oak door and was instructed to enter. He was fairly certain that he wasn’t being punished for anything, but he also had no idea what else he could be here for. Hesitantly, Sigmund pushed the oak door open after some prompting from the guard and stepped inside. Much like all of the other rooms that Sigmund had stayed in during his time at the facility called Katalysator, this room had no windows. It was far larger than most of the other rooms, though it was lit by far fewer torches. It was so dark that he didn’t even notice the other figure in the room until he spoke. 

“You’re Sigmund, then?”

Sigmund jolted and quickly turned to find a tall, thick-set man standing in front of him. His hair was a light brown as was his beard. He had a larger, more bushy beard than anyone Sigmund had ever seen. “Y-yes.”

The man cracked a weak smile. “Don’t worry, kid; you’re not in trouble. The name’s Hephestentine — Hephestentine Gregorovich if you’re gonna be formal.” 

By the man’s tone of voice, it sounded very much like formality was something that he wanted to avoid, and even young Sigmund could pick up on that much. Something else scratched at the corner of his young mind. The name… what was it about that name?

“Like… Hephaestus?” he asked, remembering the name from a book he had read about Greek mythology. “He was a god, right?”

The man let out a deep, booming laugh. “Hephaestus, eh? Yeah, he was the god of craftsmanship in Ancient Greece. That’s actually a good one, kid, I might just use that one day. But, nah, unfortunately, my name’s Hephestentine, not Hephaestus.”

Sigmund frowned. Maybe that wasn’t it then. What had the man said his last name was? G...Gre...Gregorovich? Gregorovich!

“You're a wandmaker!” Sigmund breathed out in absolute awe. “Your dad gave Lord Grindelwald his wand.” 

It was odd how reflexive it was to call Gellert Grindelwald his lord, as he didn’t subscribe to all of the stuff about muggles, but old habits died hard. 

“You’re a sharp one, kid. None of the others figured that bit out; I had to tell them who I was and what I was doing here.” He nodded approvingly. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

The wandmaker directed Sigmund to run his small hands over a flat surface of what appeared to be many varying colours of wood. He told him that the wood that was going to make up his wand would call to him — he said that Sigmund would know when he had found the right one.

The problem was, Sigmund didn’t.

Or to be more precise, he could not decide between two kinds of wood that called equally strongly to him.

“Both of them?” the wandmaker asked, sounding surprised and curious, though Sigmund failed to identify the latter.

Sigmund nodded excitedly but then looked apprehensive. “Is that not okay? Can a wand not work with two woods? Do I have to—”

“Calm down, lad,” the man told him, placing a comforting hand on Sigmund’s shoulder. “Nah, it’ll work just fine, it’s just very unusual is all. These two in particular… well, there’s nothing wrong with them mixing, but I’ve never seen or even heard of it before and my father’s told me more stories than days you’ve been alive.” 

Sigmund had to stifle a giggle as the man peered speculatively at the woods. “Beechwood and ashwood,” he declared once it was evident that Sigmund had been put at ease. “I’ll give you a book to read up on after this that explains all the different woods and cores. Same thing I did for all the others.” Sigmund nodded eagerly. For all of the books he had read, he had never read any like that.

“For now, though,” Gregorovich told him, “let’s find you your wand core, eh?”

_**September 9, 1940  
Katalysator  
9:02 AM** _

The first thing Sigmund had done once he had been given his ten and a half-inch wand, made from ash and beechwood as well containing a single hair from the tail of a unicorn, was to dive into the book that the wandmaker had given him and search out the components of his wand. What he found was fascinating, even if he had to read it a few times before he was reasonably confident he had understood the meaning.

_Ash_

_The ash wand bows to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner because it will lose power. This tendency is extreme if the core is of unicorn. Old superstitions regarding wands rarely bear close examination, but I find that the old rhyme regarding rowan, chestnut, ash and hazel wands (rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, hazel moans) contains a small nugget of truth. Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands are not, in my experience, lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insists on trying wands of this prestigious wood, will be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner may be stubborn, and will certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant._

The book contained a description just as in-depth for the other half of his wand’s wood as well.

_Beech_

_The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his or her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant. Such wizards and witches, having obtained a beech wand without having been suitably matched (yet coveting this most desirable, richly-hued, and highly-prized wand wood), have often presented themselves at the homes of learned wandmakers such as myself, demanding to know the reason for their handsome wand’s lack of power. When properly matched, the beech wand is capable of a subtlety and artistry rarely seen in any other wood, hence its lustrous reputation._

As interesting as all that had been, Sigmund would be lying if he hadn't been a bit excited to read about unicorns. They had covered a few very basic magical creatures in class, but nothing like a unicorn.

_Unicorn Hair_

_Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard._

_Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’ and need replacing._

That had been the hardest of the three paragraphs for Sigmund to understand, as he had to look up several words in the dictionary they had all been given upon their arrival. Fluctuation and compensation had given him issues, but he now thought he had a pretty good idea of what the paragraph meant.

He had been more excited to get his wand than he had been for anything since his arrival at Katalysator. This morning, they would be learning about their first bit of magic. Apparently, they would even get to try it. He had read all about the levitation charm, both from the handout Giaus had given the class and from a basic Charms book he had taken from the facility’s library. He knew that Giaus said most kids their age wouldn’t be able to do it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it one hell of a try.

When he entered the classroom the morning of their first lesson in magic, Sigmund was, perhaps for the first time, not one of the first three to arrive. As soon as he entered the room, he could practically taste the tension and the excitement in the air. The wait for the beginning of their lesson felt like one of the longest in Sigmund's life, even though it was only a couple of minutes.

“I won’t waste too much of your time,” promised Giaus. “I can see how excited you all are, so we’ll just get straight to the point. I hope you have all done your reading?” They all nodded in confirmation. “Excellent! Well then, why don’t you all tell me everything you know about the Levitation Charm and how to cast it?”

Ten or so minutes later, each of them was given a feather. Their goal was simply to levitate the offending object off of their desk. As they quickly found out, it was not as simple as it sounded. None of them had achieved it after an hour, and when there were only ten minutes left in class, nobody had even come close. 

Sigmund paused and closed his eyes, trying to tune out the chorus of voices chanting the incantation and focus on the magic itself. He wanted this to work… he wanted it so badly… he just had to focus.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

With a precise flick of his wand, Sigmund’s feather jerked up off of the desk. It wasn’t truly levitation, but the feather shot up about five feet in the air before promptly falling back down to the desk. The entire class stopped what they were doing to look at him in awe. Giaus was on top of him in an instant. 

Sigmund did not register what Giaus was saying, nor the words of congratulations from his fellow students. The only thing he registered was the immeasurably warm bubble of pride that was swiftly swelling within his chest.

He had done it! He had done magic! Not the accidental kind they had learned about a few months ago, but real magic!

He had never been so proud in his life.

_**January 5, 1942  
Katalysator  
11:04 AM** _

Giaus had wrapped up yet another lesson on Potions and told the class to take a twenty-minute break while he left to prepare something for their next lesson, which he had not told them about. This was highly unusual. Normally, he told them exactly what to study to be ready for their next lesson. The gathered class, including the now ten-year-old Sigmund, were all fairly baffled as to what he could be preparing.

“What do you think he’s doing?” asked a boy named Simon from Sigmund’s right. He and Sigmund had formed a tentative friendship over the last year. Both of them were interested in Charms and they both performed quite well in classes, so they had gained additional access to the library. From discussing what they had read in there, the two boys had formed a tentative friendship. Simon was actually about six months older than Sigmund, but none of them really commented on that fact unless Simon needed to use it to win an argument — usually a petty one.

“I have no idea,” answered Sigmund. “Giaus is always prepared. I don’t think he’s ever done this before. Unless you can remember a time?”

Simon shook his head. “No, never. That’s why I was asking you, teacher’s pet.”

Sigmund pulled a face. He was good in Charms, the top student in his age bracket in fact — though it wasn’t really that close. Giaus had taken quite a liking to Sigmund and even gave him extra reading material on occasion. 

“It’s not my fault that I’m good at Charms.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. You’re the one who studies all the time.”

“So do you!”

“That’s not the point.”

“What kind of argument is that?”

“A good one?”

Before the two could finish their bickering, the door opened and Giaus stepped inside. For the first time in any of their memories, he was not alone. The class fell deathly silent and Sigmund felt his heart begin to quicken. He couldn’t decipher why, but he felt an odd sense of foreboding simply from being near this man. He was sure he’d never seen him before, but an ominous air seemed to cling to him, nonetheless.

“Attention please, boys and girls,” called Giaus. At once, the class fell silent. “Today, we have the great honour of having one of the top men in our society here with us. A man who is treasured even by Lord Grindelwald himself, and a man who is here on behalf of the empire to help teach you all something I promised I would teach you a long time ago; something I know you will all be excited for — duelling.”

The silence in the room was broken as the children descended into excited and nervous babbling about duelling. Sigmund felt his heart rate speed up still further. He was quite good at Charms — better than all of these kids, as a matter of fact — so it should stand to reason that he would be decent in a duel, right? Therein lay the problem. He thought he ought to be, but in reality, he was as uncertain as any of the other chattering children around him.

“Now, I will go over some of the basics of duelling and Sensenmann Shevchenko will watch you all perform and point out errors when he sees prudent.”

And they were off.

Giaus showed them the proper starting positions in duelling, the correct stances and the demanded etiquette. He had them all practice the stances individually before he paired them off on Shevchenko’s suggestion. The man thought it would be best to allow them to give it a go. That way, he and Giaus could easily see where corrections were most heavily needed. Sigmund’s heart quickened, even more so than when he was paired off with Ivan.

Ivan was the only student who could really keep up with him in Charms. Sigmund was still the best in the class, but Ivan was a very close second. Ivan had also been going on about duelling nonstop for nearly a year now, so it would stand to reason that he may have read up on the subject. There was also the fact that Ivan and Sigmund weren’t exactly friends. The two boys didn’t dislike each other, per se, but they weren’t close either. Sigmund had even caught Ivan scowling at him several times when Giaus had praised his ability in the past. There was also something distinctly unpleasant about the odd gleam in Ivan’s dark eyes, even if Sigmund could not quite identify what it meant.

“When all combatants are ready,” Giaus called once they had all bowed to one another, “I will begin the count and you will commence. The duel begins in three, two, one!”

It was chaos. 

None of them knew overly powerful magic. Tickling Charms and the like were the standards for what was thrown around, but Sigmund and Ivan were a bit different. Ivan opened with Tarantallegra, a spell that Sigmund himself had never actually mastered. The boy leapt aside and countered with a Stinging Hex that hit Ivan’s shoulder — causing him to flinch back. Sigmund didn’t hesitate, immediately shooting a Tickling Charm at his opponent. It barely missed and Ivan retorted with a Stinging Hex of his own. Their arsenals were still incredibly limited, but by the time all of the other pairs had concluded their duels, Sigmund and Ivan were still at a stalemate. 

Both boys were growing frustrated quickly. They had pretty much expended the arsenal of spells that they thought would be of any use in a duel and nothing had come of it. 

Unless…

Sigmund allowed Ivan’s next Stinging Hex to hit him in the face. It was painful, and he reared back, but it had the consequence of Ivan pausing to bask in his smugness, which allowed Sigmund to use the spell that had first earned him Giaus’s attention.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Ivan’s eyes widened along with the rest of the gathered students when one of the chairs that had been pushed against the far wall quickly levitated into the air and shot towards Ivan. Ivan dodged to the side and Sigmund quickly lost control of the chair, but with a spark of inspiration, he levitated Ivan himself into the air before dropping him painfully to the floor. The boy cried out in terrible pain, and Sigmund froze in horror when he heard the obvious crack when Ivan landed on his arm — suddenly forgetting how much energy levitating a person had taken. 

“Enough!” Giaus commanded, stepping forward to examine the now sobbing form of Sigmund’s opponent. “Broken arm,” he said after a moment. He ran his wand carefully over the boy’s arm and muttered something. The boy wailed in agony until the magic took effect and his cries quickly subsided.

“Shall we enlighten our young friends as to the competition?” Shevchenko asked Giaus with a rather twisted smile.

Giaus nodded. “I suppose we shall, since there is a rather clear winner. Don’t you agree?” Shevchenko nodded. “There was another reason Sensenmann Shevchenko was here today. You see, due to an injury attained during one of his most recent missions for Lord Grindelwald, he will be kept off of the field for several months. So, most graciously, he offered to train the most impressive duelist in this class.” Giaus smiled proudly as his approval landed on Sigmund. “I think it is safe to say that the winner is quite clear.”

All in the room looked towards Sigmund, but he was simply frozen.

Perhaps he should have been elated at the opportunity to train with one of the most vicious magic users in the world. Perhaps he should have been grateful, or awed, or dumbstruck, or any such number of things.

The truth was far less glamorous.

Sigmund was doing all he could not to charge at the man, or to cry. 

As soon as Shevchenko had spoken, Sigmund knew exactly where the air of dread had come from. His voice was terrifyingly familiar; it was the voice he had heard in his nightmares most nights for nearly the past three years.

This was the bastard who had murdered his parents.

And now, Sigmund had to train with him.

_**September 20, 1942  
Katalysator  
8:56 PM** _

Sigmund slumped with exhaustion the moment that Shevchenko told him they were finished for the night. For four months after that fateful first duelling lesson, Sigmund had been taught three nights a week by the psychotic lieutenant of Gellert Grindelwald. For the first number of weeks, Sigmund struggled through the lessons. Not just due to their brutal difficulty, but because every time he laid eyes on Shevchenko, Sigmund wanted to curse him, hurt him and cry all at the same time. 

Eventually, those instincts had all but faded into the background of Sigmund’s mind. His feeling of hatred towards Shevchenko had become somewhat muted with the passing of time, but they were still very much there. Despite their presence, Sigmund knew it was much safer and easier if those emotions were not at all observable.

He recognized how dark those emotions were for a ten-year-old boy who would not turn eleven until the twenty-eighth of December, but he could not find it within himself to care. He had realized long before how dark it was that adults trapped a bunch of children in a location that they would refer to only as Katalysator. Especially after killing many of their parents, and then holding them in said location for years on end while they tried to brainwash them. Privately, Sigmund thought that if such a thing was acceptable, it was perfectly justifiable for him to lust after revenge.

Even after he had managed to focus entirely on the lessons, they had not gotten a whole lot easier. Shevchenko was, despite whatever else Sigmund thought of the monster, an absolute genius when it came to combat. He drilled Sigmund nonstop, even giving him physical exercises to complete on his own time because the man said it would improve him as a fighter. 

That was another thing. 

Shevchenko had told Sigmund that after training with him, he would be great at duelling for certain, but he had made it blatantly clear very early on that Sigmund was learning to fight, not duel.

_“What good are pretty spells and etiquette in the real world?” he had asked._

Shevchenko believed in a more practical approach. Honestly, Sigmund didn’t care because he had come to enjoy the lessons — even if he despised how sore he was after each and every single one of them. Shevchenko would never heal him either. He had told him that dealing with pain was essential and he would just have to learn to cope with and fight through it.

Sigmund was presently picking himself up off the floor and shaking off a rather nasty bludgeoning curse that he had still not managed to master shielding.

“That will do for the night,” Master Shevchenko — as he insisted on being addressed as — said curtly. “You have performed admirably over the past number of months, Sigmund, and I would like for you to participate in the annual Tournament of Champions held in Berlin. The tournament is separated by age and the minimum age requirement is ten. You would be duelling ten and eleven-year-olds since each bracket is for two years.”

Sigmund hesitated. He was thrilled — and would have been touched by the first bit of genuine praise that Shevchenko had ever given him if he didn’t despise the man so much — but at the same time, he wasn’t sure that he was ready for this. Shevchenko had been thrashing him without any effort ever since the beginning and Sigmund had only ever duelled one person his age in his life. How was he supposed to know if he was ready?

“You-you think I’m ready, Master Shevchenko?”

“Do not stutter!” the man bit back sharply. “It displays weakness that is beneath you. Try again!”

“Yes, sir. You think I am ready, Master Shevchenko?”

“Better,” the man said curtly. “If I did not think you would win, I wouldn’t enter you.”

And that was it. That was all the man had said. Sigmund had to hide how his heart had leapt into his throat at that proclamation.

_**November 26, 1942  
Katalysator  
8:00 AM** _

The Thursday before the Youth Tournament of Champions was set to begin in Berlin, Sigmund was up bright and early. Just as he was instructed to be. He was dressed in a brand new, rather expensive-looking set of robes that had been dropped off for him to wear on this journey the night before. 

The news of Sigmund’s upcoming participation in the Tournament of Champions had spread like wildfire through the complex of Katalysator. Pretty much all of the younger kids and most of those in Sigmund’s year bracket seemed genuinely happy for him. He was praised openly during classes and at meals. A few in his year — mostly kids like Ivan, the boy he had defeated in their duel all that time ago — shot him dirty looks from time to time. Those a few years older were much less receptive and, in some cases, openly hostile, but they hadn’t acted on their obvious animosity as of yet.

Putting all of those thoughts behind him in place of the tumult of nervousness and excitement that was crashing through him, Sigmund left his room, where a familiar-looking platinum blond-haired man was waiting for him.

“Giaus?” he asked, taken aback. “I mean… sir, sorry.”

The man just smiled. “There is no need to apologize, Sigmund. I am sure you were expecting one of the guards?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was the original plan, but I thought it only right that I see you off. Or, at least to the point where Master Shevchenko will take you.” Sigmund nodded as they began on a route through the corridors that he had never seen before. “I must ask you, Sigmund, not to reveal what you learn about the complex while leaving today. Truly, I should make you take an oath, but I have confidence that you will do the correct and responsible thing and keep the information to yourself.”

Sigmund nodded without hesitation. He couldn’t even imagine the consequences if he were to reveal secret information and he was certain that no amount of favouritism from Giaus would be able to keep him out of trouble. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Very good. If you are asked by Master Shevchenko, I swore you to a rather strict oath. Do you understand?” 

Dimly, Sigmund noted how odd this behaviour was from Giaus. He knew the man harboured a liking for him, but he couldn’t imagine why he would break the rules for him — let alone tell him to lie to one of the most dangerous and high ranking officials of Lord Grindelwald’s empire.

“I understand perfectly, sir. I wouldn’t want you getting in any trouble.” 

Giaus nodded, seeming satisfied with the response he had been given. “Be very careful, Sigmund.”

Sigmund’s face set in a hard line of resolute determination. “I know duelling like this is dangerous, sir. I’ll do my best.” 

Something crossed Giaus’s face. Sigmund wasn’t entirely certain what it was, but an odd instinct within him thought that the man may want to tell him something. A second later, Giaus must have thought better of it. A second later he briefly shook his head. 

“I am glad to hear it,” was the response Giaus settled for. It was the last thing he told Sigmund before he pushed aside an oak door, revealing a seemingly endless number of stairs leading upwards. “This is where I leave you,” he told Sigmund. “Follow these stairs to the top and you will find Master Shevchenko waiting for you.” 

Sigmund nodded as the butterflies returned to his stomach. “Thank you, sir.”

Giaus seemed to hesitate before placing a firm hand on Sigmund’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Be at your best, both in and out of the arena. Whatever happens, just know that I — as well as all of us here at Katalysator — are very proud of you.” And with that parting message, Giaus turned and began to briskly stride away, leaving Sigmund to climb the stairs and open the massive, metallic door at the top, admitting him into the sunlight for the first time in over three years as he exited the secret underground facility of Katalysator.

_**November 30, 1942  
Berlin, Germany  
12:00 PM** _

Sigmund stepped out into the centre of the duelling arena with a stone-hard expression of utter determination. For the past three days, he had fought tooth and nail to get here. Now, the time had arrived. 

It was time for the finals of the Youth Tournament of Champions for the ten and eleven-year-old division. 

Sigmund had gone through five duels thus far, with the first being on Friday morning and the final one taking place just hours ago. The first duel had been a cakewalk; the boy who had served as his opponent had seemed to have been barely competent with a wand. The second had been more difficult, but not too much so. The third had been, by far, his most difficult opponent. His opponent had knocked Sigmund down with a well-placed tripping jinx and hit him with several cutting curses before he was fully back on his feet. After that minor setback though, the duel had only lasted a few more minutes before Sigmund’s hand had been raised in victory. Now, he was face to face with a tall, muscular, dirty blonde eleven-year-old by the name of Alir Luxembourg. 

The crowd sat in hushed silence as Sigmund and Luxembourg squared off and the official went over the rules one final time. Then, the two boys shook hands and stepped back before each bowed deeply to the other as they took their stances. When the blast from the official’s wand echoed through the arena, the duel began.

To Sigmund, it was all a blur. He remembered taking a Bludgeoning Curse very early on, then a Cutting Curse mere moments later. He remembered almost succumbing to a Stinging Hex to the nether regions, but he also remembered the other boy’s face growing red and blotchy. Sigmund knew within five minutes that despite having been knocked around for every second thus far, he was going to win this duel. He could tell without having to ask that this boy wasn’t used to his opponents sticking around for more than a minute or so. Shevchenko had preached the importance of physical and magical endurance and Sigmund — however much he hated his ‘mentor’ — had very much taken those words to heart. 

After they had been duelling for eight minutes, Sigmund’s spells were suddenly effective and Luxembourg had not so much as touched Sigmund in the last two minutes. By the time ten minutes came about, the older boy was barely able to dodge anymore, let alone cast his own offence in return. And by the time thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds had passed, Sigmund Lockhart had disarmed Alir Luxembourg and become the first ten-year-old to win the ten and eleven-year-old bracket of the Youth Tournament of Champions since his Master, Igor Shevchenko, had done exactly the same over thirty years earlier.

Speaking of Igor Shevchenko, he was smiling at Sigmund, giving the boy the first genuine smile he had ever seen on his face. That smile lasted throughout the entirety of Sigmund’s medal and plaque presentation and even until they got back to the dressing room. 

When they entered, the room was not empty. Sigmund actually gasped at the figure he saw waiting for them.

The man was an inch or two taller than average, not particularly tall, but slim. He had platinum blonde hair, bluish-silver eyes that shone with intelligence, and sharp features that practically screamed of cunning, charisma, and danger. His plain black robes with a simple triangular symbol that was synonymous with his empire did nothing to dull the man’s appearance, and that was to speak nothing of their golden trim.

For the first time, Sigmund was grateful for the brainwashing that had been done at Katalysator. Without it, his shock would have been completely wiped away by logic and he wouldn’t have thought to kneel and bow his head in front of this man. 

“Lord Grindelwald?” he breathed, barely able to believe it. 

Grindelwald chuckled indulgently. He had a smooth, enchanting sort of voice that nearly managed to put Sigmund at ease. 

“Rise, young one. It is not becoming of someone of your noble stature and future to find yourself in such a position of weakness — though I appreciate the show of respect and loyalty and applaud Katalysator for their marvellous teachings.” 

Slowly, as if in a trance, Sigmund picked his way back up to his feet. He was careful to keep a straight and proud — but not at all arrogant — posture as he did so. He needed to appease Grindelwald, but looking too confident while in the presence of a man who had been depicted to him for three years as a god could easily be taken as disrespect.

“I am very happy to see that the time and energy the empire has put into Katalysator is manifesting itself into such hopeful prospects,” said Grindelwald. “Of course, much of the credit must go to your master, Igor, as well.”

Shevchenko bowed his head. “I do my best to serve, my lord.”

“We both know you do perfectly well, Igor. There is a reason you are regarded and trusted so highly.” Then, his enchanting, vaguely familiar eyes landed on Sigmund. “You have even begun the development of a protégé.” 

Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and though Sigmund couldn’t explain it, he suddenly felt even more vulnerable and even more exposed. It felt as if Grindelwald was peering into his very soul. “There are… areas that still need to be refined,” the self-proclaimed lord continued, “but you, Sigmund Lockhart, are the brightest prospect since Igor here. You bring pride to your instructors, your institution, and even your lord. See that, as the wonderful mysteries of the future reveal themselves, you continue to uphold everything that this great empire stands for.”

“Yes, my lord,” answered Sigmund, bowing his head forward. 

Grindelwald smiled brightly. “I must return to my business, but I could not miss the opportunity to feast my eyes on the future. It is such a marvellous and enchanting beauty that stands alone on its immortal, untouchable pedestal.” Grindelwald reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew from it a single, golden locket. After inspecting it for a moment, Sigmund realized that it was the same locket Shevchenko had worn the first day he had appeared at Katalysator. Or at least, the design was the same.

“As a token of my gratitude for representing the empire in such a manner, I grant you, Sigmund Lockhart, the Stern der Ewigkeit. It is a mark of the highest-ranking members of the empire.” He held it out to Sigmund.

Sigmund knew all too well what this amulet meant. It was worn by a very select few. Grindelwald himself, Shevchenko, and several other high-ranking officials. All he could do — despite the tumult of rage that boiled up in the presence of the man that had been the one truly responsible for his life over the last three years — was bow his head in forced respect and adoration. He had an odd compulsion not to meet his ‘lord’s’ eyes again.

Instead, he glanced towards the amulet that Grindelwald held out to him. It was gold, trimmed in silver, and in the shape of an equal arterial cross with arms bent at perfect right angles. They had learned about the symbol in classes with Giaus. It was apparently called a swastika, and it allegedly stood for prosperity and good fortune. It was one of the marks of Grindelwald’s ever-expanding empire. 

Words were embroidered into the precious metal in the same silvery colour that lined the piece of jewelry. The same words that Grindelwald himself had just spoken — Stern der Ewigkeit. In English, the rough translation was Star of Eternity. Sigmund didn’t quite grasp the symbolism, but he assumed it had something to do with the recipients of the award being the metaphorical stars of Grindelwald’s ever-expanding empire.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“We shall meet again, my child. Fate herself has foretold it. I give you this amulet as a promise of the circumstances in which we shall reunite.”

_**December 4, 1942  
Katalysator  
2:25 PM** _

Ever since his return from the Youth Tournament of Champions, Sigmund had noticed subtle changes in the facility which he had called home for more than three years.

Many of those in his age bracket looked at him with adoration and respect. The vast majority certainly respected and treasured him far more than they had before his international victory less than a week earlier. It was actually a fairly drastic shift. A number of them had approached him and all of a sudden been very friendly. Ivan — the boy whom he had beaten in his first-ever duel — was one of these children, which confused Sigmund quite a bit. 

Simon was currently explaining to him exactly why that was the case, and it actually made a fair bit of sense; though Sigmund would never have thought about it in that way. 

Not only had Sigmund proven himself a talented duellist and quite successful overall, but he had also obviously earned the favour of Igor Shevchenko. Shevchenko was revered by almost all in the empire. Especially those at Katalysator, as none of them had forgotten the way in which he had taught them that first day.

As Simon explained it, people viewed Sigmund as a person to latch onto. They viewed him as someone who was bound to have a great deal of future success, as well as a possible in with Shevchenko, which would doubtlessly be invaluable.

“What about the older kids?” asked Sigmund warily, glancing at a few of them at a nearby table. “They’ve been different ever since I got back. They’ve been glaring at me like I’ve done something wrong. A couple of them even tried cursing me in the back yesterday in the cafeteria while the guards’ backs were turned.”

Simon winced. “It’s… complicated.”

“How?”

“Well… how would you feel if one of the younger kids started getting special training from a really important person and was suddenly given a medal by Lord Grindelwald and all the rest?”

Sigmund frowned. “I’d probably want to know if they deserved it, but—”

“Exactly,” cut in Simon. “That’s the thing; they don’t think you deserve it. They still think you’re just some random kid. They just think they could trounce you easily and whatever else. It bugs them that you’re getting all the attention when they feel like they’re so much better, just because they’re older.”

Sigmund crossed his arms. “That’s stupid!”

“I know,” placated Simon, “but it’s true.” He frowned. “I think it is, anyway. I’m just saying what I think the problem is.”

“So I’m just going to have to deal with people from our year trying to use me and older kids being jerks?” Reluctantly, Simon nodded. Sigmund huffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It is, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be right here with you. Even if they start cursing me in the back too.”

Sigmund looked gratefully towards his best and only real friend. “Thanks, Simon. That means a lot.”

He smiled. “Anytime, Sigmund. That’s what friends are for.”

_**December 3, 1943  
Katalysator  
8:47 PM** _

A week after winning the Youth Tournament of Champions for the second straight year — this time with very little challenge — Sigmund had just completed yet another lesson with Shevchenko. Sigmund had naively expected that once success started to come in competition, the maniacal Shevchenko may let up on him a bit. As it turned out, the precise opposite thing occurred. Now, at nearly twelve years old, Sigmund could appreciate the teaching style of his ‘master’, even if he still wanted to do nothing more than to make him pay for all he had done.

It was baffling to think that he had lived in Katalysator for four years. It was true that in the last year he had at least gotten to leave the facility fairly often for duelling competitions — set up by Shevchenko, of course — but seeing the beauty of the world above only made that fact more surreal to Sigmund. Though Shevchenko managed to make every Sunday practice without fail, he had become busier with his more important duties for the empire over the past calendar year. As a result, Sigmund attended many of the duelling competitions under the watchful eye of Giaus while a substitute was sent to Katalysator to fill in for his training when the man was absent. Giaus had also begun to teach Sigmund privately two days a week, increasing the number of days he practiced duelling to three times a week. Sigmund was rather pleased with the arrangement. He really did enjoy duelling and he actually liked Giaus — which was far more than he would ever be able to say about Shevchenko. 

Unfortunately, one effect this had was to slowly turn much of Katalysator against him. Sigmund bitterly remembered the day when Giaus had explained about the muggles’ jealousy and how it caused them to lash out. Though Sigmund still didn’t believe it entirely — at least not that all muggles were awful people — he had begun to see similar tendencies manifesting themselves within his peers. Many of his companions in his year level were now giving him the cold shoulder altogether. Some even dared to make hissed remarks under their breaths about favouritism and teachers’ pets, but none of them dared to do more than that.

Until tonight, anyway.

Sigmund turned a corner near the room that he and Shevchenko occupied every Sunday — and he and Giaus occupied every Tuesday and Thursday — when he froze and, against his better judgement, a terrified scream ripped from his lungs.

Laying unmoving on the floor in front of him, with pale, glassy eyes and was the form of his best friend, Simon. 

Through all of the drama since his first victory at the Youth Tournament of Champions in late 1942, through most of Katalysator slowly turning their backs on their golden child, Simon had stayed strong with Sigmund throughout — just as he’d promised he would. 

The two boys had talked endlessly in the library whenever they were allowed out of their quarters. They were always side-by-side in lessons and mealtimes because of their first names falling so close to one another in alphabetical order, and Simon had stuck strong with him through all of it. He had been supportive, kind, and even encouraging during the build-up to this last tournament, whereas Sigmund knew much of Katalysator was hoping he finally faltered.

Now, Simon — his kind, caring, supportive friend — was lying dead on the floor in front of him and all Sigmund could do was scream because he knew, just knew, that somebody had done this because of him. They had done it because of his success, because of Simon’s support and because of their own, bitter jealousy. He knew that it must have been somebody ator for their molder than both of them — or more than likely, several older people — but Sigmund could not find it within himself to care. All he could care about was his friend, dead on the floor. 

_**March 26, 1944  
Katalysator  
9:02 PM** _

It had taken Sigmund several weeks to even partially recover from the emotional shock of losing Simon. Katalysator had held a funeral for the boy and Giaus had been more sombre than Sigmund had ever seen him. He had also promised, in no uncertain terms, that if those responsible for Simon's death were caught, there would be consequences the likes of which none of the children could even comprehend.

Giaus and the other officials running Katalysator had deduced that it had indeed been foul play that had led to the death of Sigmund’s best friend. Giaus had told him in the strictest of confidences during a lesson a few weeks later that the source of death had been traced to a spell designed to restart the heart. Unfortunately, when applied with ill intent and on a working, healthy heart, it could also have the opposite effect.

Ever since the death of Simon, Sigmund was lonelier than he had been in years — possibly ever — within the walls of Katalysator. Not only was he alone in the sense that he had no friends, but he was alone in the sense that most of the other children had turned against him. This was made evident one night in March when he was making his way back to his quarters one Sunday evening following his lesson with Master Shevchenko. A spell slammed into his back, causing him to fall to the floor in pain.

His muscles all seemed to have coiled and were spasming horribly. Vaguely, Sigmund thought through his haze of pain that he had a brief recollection of Shevchenko telling him about a curse that did that. 

Before he knew what was happening, Sigmund was hauled to his feet and dragged through the corridors before he was thrust into a side room. Before he knew what was happening, Sigmund was bound and placed in a sitting position, staring up at five much bigger, much older boys. Vaguely, Sigmund recognized at least one of them as a boy named Marcus. Last he could remember, Marcus had been sixteen, so he was at least that old, possibly even seventeen by now.

“Well, well, well,” the boy in question drawled, “if it isn’t Giaus’s golden boy and Shevchenko’s protege.” 

Sigmund grit his teeth. “What do you want?” he spat, trying to muster as much dignity as he could from his current position on the floor.

The lead boy snorted. “What we want is what this whole place has wanted for over a year,” he sneered. “Do you have any idea how sickening it is to watch Giaus parade around a twelve-year-old like he’s the lord of this damn place? Do you have any fucking idea how pathetic it is to have people treasure you for beating ten and eleven-year-olds and treat you like you’re the king of this place when anyone fifteen or older could trounce you with no effort?”

“That’s not my problem!” Sigmund spat back. 

He could tell that arguing probably wasn’t a good idea by the look in Marcus’s eyes. It was disturbing and Sigmund knew that the boy and his friends had already made up their minds about what was going to happen. Nothing he said or didn’t say would change that because they didn’t care about him, not really. They cared about his position, they cared about what he represented to them, and no words he could speak would change that. 

_“You either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain.”_ Sigmund had read that in a book somewhere over the years he had been at Katalysator, and that quote flowed straight to the front of his mind. Idly, he wondered how Shevchenko would have reacted to that quote. 

‘Live long enough to become the villain? How utterly ridiculous! Begin as the villain and craft yourself into a hero.’ Something like that would have been very in character for his “master” but either way, no amount of philosophical thinking was about to save Sigmund.

“What do we want?” Marcus asked, ignoring Sigmund’s protests, pretending to ponder the question. “What we want is this fucking pathetic worship of you to end. That’s not going to happen as long as you’re still duelling because, loathe as we are to admit it, you’re damn good for your age,” he sighed. “We tried to do this the nice way. We tried to do this without hurting you.”

“What do you mean? I haven’t ever said more than five words to you!”

“He’s a bit dim, isn’t he?” one of the others asked, prompting a chorus of laughter from the assembled teens.

“Just a bit,” Marcus smirked sarcastically. “We thought, you stupid little boy, that if we took your stupid friend away from you, maybe you’d quit,” he sneered. “We thought at least that you might take the hint that you had enemies who wanted you to stop.”

Sigmund’s mind was racing as tears of righteous fury welled in his deep blue eyes, looking almost like the warped reflection of sunlight on a calm, tranquil ocean. “You-you killed Simon!”

“It wasn’t hard,” a new boy answered. “We roughed him up a bit, practiced a few curses on him and then Marcus tied the knot.” He shrugged. “We left him where we knew you’d find him.”

“How did you know where I had lessons? That’s supposed to be a secret!”

“See? This is what we mean! You’re a fucking twelve-year-old brat who’s decent in duelling. You’re nothing special. You don’t even know what a notice-me-not charm is.” He scowled viciously. “Long story short, we followed you when you couldn’t see us. It wasn’t hard, you’re not exactly stealthy about sneaking to your lessons.”

Sigmund strained against his bindings even though he knew it would be of no use. Even if he managed to miraculously escape — a feat he knew to be impossible — he did not have a wand to fight with. He had his doubts on whether or not he could even take any one of these teenagers, there was no way he’d be able to take on all five at once.

“What are you going to do then?”

“Ah, now that’s a much better question. You see, we didn’t stop at the spell we tried on your little friend. We’ve been practicing some other spells too; spells that are just as dangerous, just as lethal and a whole lot slower to get the job done.”

Sigmund tried not to be afraid. He would not give these monsters the pleasure of seeing him cry or cower in fear during his final moments. If he was going to die, he was going to die the same way his parents died — proud and defiant until the very end. 

“Shall we get started?” asked Marcus. When the others nodded, he trailed his wand on Sigmund. “Let’s not end it so soon, I’ve been dying to try out this one. Cruc—” but he never finished the incantation for the curse that the ICW themselves had deemed as unforgivable. 

The door blew off its hinges at the precise moment that the hastily conjured wards protecting the room collapsed. Marcus wheeled around and attempted to fire the half-completed curse at his new target, but he never had the chance. Without saying so much as a word, the familiar man in the red and silver cloak simply slashed his wand and, with a terrible cry of agony, Marcus promptly lost the arm that was holding his wand. The other boys — who had their path of exit blocked by Shevchenko — did the only other thing they could and drew their own wands. 

The duel — if one could call it that — lasted precisely ten seconds and, while Shevchenko didn’t immediately kill any of the teens, they were never seen again in Katalysator or anywhere else after that night. When they had all fallen, Shevchenko flicked his wand towards Sigmund and the ropes promptly fell away. He only told his apprentice one thing before levitating the unconscious teenagers out of the room.

“You must be more vigilant, Sigmund! This is precisely what can happen in the heat of war!”

_**April 24, 1945  
Katalysator  
8:46 PM** _

Sigmund’s shoulders slumped with exhaustion as Giaus called time to their Tuesday night practice. After the fiasco with Marcus and his cronies over a year ago, Sigmund had seriously wanted to just give up duelling. That had lasted until Shevchenko had caught wind of that and scolded him for exactly how stupid of an idea that was. Loathe as he was to admit it, Sigmund had to reluctantly concede that the man had a point. If he wanted to be strong, to ensure that such an event never took place again, the best way of doing so would be to continue his training. Giaus had spurred him on too, and it was he who proudly smiled at his charge’s mastery of the Banishing Hex.

“Well done, Sigmund, well done! At only a few months older than twelve, you are casting magic that most do not learn until they are at least fourteen. This has been excellent work. We are done for tonight.”

With a tired smile, Sigmund bowed his head and thanked his instructor before making his way towards the door. Before he reached it, Giaus’s voice called out. 

“Sigmund?” The boy in question froze and turned slowly to face the man whom he considered to be his real mentor. 

Giaus had never hurt him nor had he been the one to kill his parents. Giaus wasn’t a monster. He was a genuine man trying to get by. An extremely gifted man, but genuine. Shevchenko was a monster. 

When he turned to look at his mentor though, he saw a look in those eyes that he had never seen before. A look of urgency and of unmasked fear.

“Giaus? What’s going on?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper as he glanced left and right, almost seeming to check as if there were anyone else in the empty room, “be ready. Rise early, gather anything important tonight and have them in your bag. It will happen tomorrow.”

“Giaus, what—”

“I can’t say anymore, I am sorry. Be ready and spread the word if you see anyone on the way back to your room. If you don’t, do not dare leave your room tonight to spread the message. Lock yourself in, rise early and do not leave that room unless somebody fetches you. If they do… go with them, alright? Please, Sigmund, I am asking you to trust me.” The man’s face was completely impassive, but Sigmund had the odd feeling he was fighting back tears.

“I will, Giaus, I promise.” Then, in the most shocking event that had ever happened inside the walls of Katalysator, Giaus clambered to his feet and made his way towards Sigmund, pulling his apprentice into a warm, tight hug. “Giaus?” Sigmund gasped in surprise.

“I’ve never had a son,” Giaus told him. “But if I did, I would want him to be just like you. Go. You must rest and you must prepare.”

Thoroughly baffled, Sigmund did just that.

Once he had left, he didn’t see his mentor slowly and deliberately remove a swastika-shaped necklace. With a wave of his wand, Giaus reduced the amulet to little more than ash.

__**April 25, 1945**  
Katalysator  
6:00 AM 

Sigmund had not known how early he was to wake. Giaus had never specified, so Sigmund decided 6:00 AM was a safe bet. 

The night prior, he had packed everything that he considered to be his important things. It was depressing how few of those things there were. There were his duelling awards, some clothes, and a few books. After everything was packed, Sigmund had gone to bed. He awoke the next morning and waited tensely on the edge of his bed, half expecting his locked door to fly off of its hinges without warning at any second. He couldn’t force himself to pick up one of the books he planned to leave behind and start to read, he just couldn’t. He was too tight, too tense, too ready. He didn’t know what Giaus had been referring to the night previous but whatever it was, he knew it would be life-changing. Giaus would not have acted in that way for anything less — Sigmund was at least certain of that. 

As if on cue, a terrible, ear-splitting noise suddenly pierced through the underground facility of Katalysator. Sigmund had never heard such a noise before but he could guess pretty well what it was — an alarm.

Instantly, his posture straightened and he took a firm grip on his bag with one hand and his wand with the other. He had been on constant alert since the day Marcus and his group of thugs had jumped him, but he knew that whatever was about to happen was far more serious than schoolyard drama — even if said drama had resulted in death.

It took a few minutes before other sounds made themselves present. There were loud bangs, cries of pain, scuffling and more. Sigmund had stood by this point with his bag slung over his shoulder. He heard doors being opened in his hall and somehow knew that his companions were being let out, slaughtered, or something else that involved strangers opening their doors. Just as that thought crossed his mind, the locking spell on his door disintegrated as it swung inwards. Sigmund quickly aimed his wand, but the figure was not wearing a red cloak. In fact, the figure was the absolute last person he would have expected in Katalysator.

It was a very tall girl who looked to be around the same age as Marcus was before his passing. Sigmund’s mind registered the fact she was very pretty, but it didn’t mean anything to him at his current age. Her skin was pale, but not unattractively so, and her features were somehow soft and angelic as well as sharp and well defined at the same time. She had a slim nose, full pink lips and dark, intense blue eyes. They were not like any he had ever seen. They weren’t like those of Giaus — whose silver eyes had an oddly blue hue and were dotted with what almost seemed to be specks of the former colour. They were solid blue and practically screamed of power and danger. She wore simple black robes that seemed to billow around her as if the air itself was charged. Sigmund’s wand hand faltered. 

There was something about her… he just didn’t think attacking her was a good idea.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she assured him, stepping inside and firing a spell at the door that caused a visible distortion in the air. Simultaneously, the sound of several locks slamming into place sounded and a blue, translucent barrier seemed to appear on their side of the door. “I’m here to set you free.”

Sigmund’s mind blanked at the very concept. “F-free?”

She smiled an award-winning, sympathetic smile that made his chest feel oddly warm. “What’s your name?” she asked him in a soft, gentle voice.

“S-Sigmund,” he said, “Sigmund Lockhart.” He realized it may have been the first time he had used his last name since his arrival at Katalysator, but he had never forgotten it. He supposed if this girl was here to set him free, he could have told her it was Gideon, but Sigmund had stuck… he liked Sigmund.

Her soft smile only widened as she stepped towards him slowly, as if to indicate she was no threat before offering her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sigmund. My name is Emily, Emily Riddle. And my companions and I are here to set you and your friends free.” Her face darkened. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, or how long you have been here, but Gellert Grindelwald is not a good man. He is what we call a Dark Lord, and he is an enemy of every single witch or wizard alive.”

“I know he isn’t a good man,” Sigmund said darkly. “Some of my classmates don’t realize that, but I have… guesses about him and the empire.”

Emily Riddle nodded. “I’m glad I found a clever one,” she told him. “This would be much more difficult if you were too blinded to see reason.” She paused. “Do you trust me, Sigmund?”

“Uh… I don’t really know. Is that a bad answer?”

Emily let out a soft, melodic laugh. “No, Sigmund; that is a perfectly logical answer and the one I would have given in your place. With that being said, I am asking you to trust me. My companions and I mean you no harm. We’re here to put an end to Grindelwald and his reign of terror, and that begins with the liberty of each and every one of you.”

She was a good speaker, Sigmund would give her that. He could picture her at the front of a crowd; swaying a country to do as she wished or leading an army with words alone. 

He took a deep, calming breath. “Okay,” he told her, more nervous for this than he had ever been for anything before in his life as flashbacks of the last time he was involved in a failed escape made themself present, “I-I’ll trust you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?” she asked suddenly. 

He fidgeted uncomfortably. It was as if she could read his mind. “Yeah, just… bad memories.” 

Curtly, she nodded, her smile slipping away to be replaced by a far more serious, far more determined expression. “Give me your bag, please.” He handed it over and, with a tap of her wand, she shrunk it to the size of a marble and handed it back to him. He pocketed it with a thank you and looked up at her expectantly. 

Sigmund cast one last glance towards the desk in the room. Sitting atop it was the swastika-shaped amulet Grindelwald himself had given to him after his first win in international duelling. Emotions raged inside his stomach, churning like storm clouds until he decided to snatch it from its resting place. If nothing else, it could potentially be of some value at some point.

“Stay with me at all times,” she said. The soft, gentle tones of her voice were replaced with a staggering amount of authority. He could do little more than nod. “Alright, let’s go.” 

She slashed her wand at the door and instantly the blue barrier dissipated and the door swung open. Immediately, two men in red cloaks tried to rush through. With a simple twitch of the girl’s wand, the two of them were sent flying backwards into the wall with such force that Sigmund heard several cracks and they slumped, unmoving to the floor.

“Come on!” Emily yelled, reaching down and taking a firm, vice-like grip on his hand. It felt odd. The last person to hold his hand had been his mother and he could barely even remember it now, but he realized now was not the time to think about it. 

For one thing, there seemed like worse people who could be holding his hand than Emily Riddle. She was trying to help him, apparently, and she was very pretty. For another, they definitely had more pressing matters to attend to if they were to escape Katalysator. Clearly, the alarms had roused the guards, and it was very possible that the empire would send more outside help as well.

Emily didn’t bother with walking; she took the halls at a flat sprint, practically dragging the smaller boy in her wake. If not for her tight grip on his hand, he was sure he would have lost her. His hand was numb from the strength of her grip, but seeing as it was likely the only thing keeping him alive, he wasn’t going to be complaining any time soon.

Men kept popping up around the corner, but none of them lasted more than three seconds against Emily. Sigmund thought he was quite a good duellist and honestly, at this point, he felt like he could beat a lot of fifteen or sixteen-year-olds. He had even watched the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds duelling at the Youth Tournament of Champions, but he had never seen anything like Emily Riddle. Perhaps Shevchenko... though, he didn’t move even half as fast as she did. Three spells left her wand faster than Sigmund thought it possible to cast one. At one point, they had been cornered by six wizards and he thought for certain that he was about to die — that not even this Emily Riddle could get them out of this predicament. 

It took her precisely one spell to prove him wrong. It was a spell he had never heard before, but it made him gasp when he saw the effects. Coincidentally, it was also the first spell she had spoken aloud this entire time.

“FIENDFYRE!”

The air around them seemed to distort and blur, blackening as if opening a portal to another realm. From the portal poured white-hot flames that were so dark a red they might as well have been black. They leapt from the portal-like distortion and seemed to cackle as they did so, twisting and contorting as they spread out in front of Emily and Sigmund. 

Sigmund had never felt anything like this. He shuddered noticeably just due to his proximity to the fire. Along with the heat, there was a horrible aura emanating from the flames. It felt evil in ways that Sigmund couldn’t explain and whispered horrible truths in his mind as the ever-shifting heads of terrifying beasts did so audibly. 

The flames’ cackling seemed to intensify as they coiled into the form of a massive, fiery serpent, shifting ever so slightly to absorb any spells coming their way. The men weren’t stupid enough to hopelessly try to combat the snake; the snake simply burnt its way through walls as it forged them a path that avoided all of the corridors altogether. 

The fire seemed to joyfully consume everything in its path. It burnt through stone as if it were paper. Sigmund had never thought it was possible for fire to be so vicious. There was something else about it too. It terrified him in a way that he couldn’t explain. Near proximity with the serpentine fire made his blood run cold as it burnt through anyone or anything in their path. He tried not to watch as it engulfed a group of men in red cloaks — seeming to chuckle mirthlessly as it did so — swelling in volume and intensity with each bit of matter it consumed.

“How are you doing that?” he asked her through gasps of short breath. “Beating everyone… making that fire?”

Beside him, she barely seemed out of breath, something that should be impossible. He worked out every day; he had ever since he started training with Shevchenko. He was in better shape than most and he could barely form a sentence. He certainly wouldn’t have managed to keep running had she not literally dragged him along.

“If you’ll pardon my lack of modesty, I’m quite good at magic. Better than most, as you’ve seen. It has always come naturally to me.”

That was probably the largest understatement Sigmund had ever heard.

Finally, he saw the stairs that led into the upper world up ahead. With a slash of her wand and a determined cry, Emily Riddle snuffed out the fire as she and Sigmund sprinted out of the underground facility. They encountered nobody until they got outside into the open courtyard. 

It was a vast, empty stretch of flat land sprawling out on all sides. The spring air was warm and the rustling breeze gentle. The grass only just seemed to be coming into its own after the long winter, but it was still a sight for sore eyes in Sigmund’s opinion. It had been so rare that he had seen the outside world since his arrival at Katalysator. 

“Good,” said Emily, letting go of his hand for the first time, “I’ll apparate you to a safe zone and then come back to help the others. Reinforcements are still—”

“I am afraid that will not be taking place on this lovely morning, my dear.”

Sigmund’s blood ran cold as he completely froze in place. He knew that voice, though he had heard it only once before. He knew that this man wasn’t a god — and that according to Emily, they had been mistaken in all matters regarding him — but if this man was an enemy to all witches and wizards as Emily had said, Sigmund thought it unlikely Giaus had exaggerated his power. 

With a deep, shaky breath, Sigmund turned and allowed his eyes to rest on the other lone figure in the otherwise empty courtyard. 

Gellert Grindelwald looked much the same as when Sigmund had met him several years ago in the dressing room after his first-ever Youth Tournament of Champions title victory. Now though, there was a palpable aura of power as his bluish-silver eyes seemed to shine with an ethereal light and his robes whipped around him as if caught in a nonexistent breeze. 

“Grindelwald!” Emily snarled, pushing Sigmund back and gesturing for him to retreat as she raised her wand in a defensive position.

“Such a hostile tone to take with a lord,” Grindelwald chastised her lightly. “Whom is it I have the pleasure of meeting today? I sincerely hope you aren’t one of Albus’s sycophants.”

“Emily Riddle,” The girl said with a fair bit of pride, sticking her chin up at the dark lord as she stared him right in the eye. “I care not for Albus Dumbledore. He’s merely a stepping stone that will be crossed once I have dealt with the obstacle in front of me. If you survive today, you will remember the name.”

Grindelwald chuckled. It was controlled, but derisive and full of unbidden mirth. “My dear Ms. Riddle, you believe yourself — a child who looks no older than the age of seventeen or eighteen at most — to be capable of killing the most powerful sorcerer alive?”

“I don’t need to kill, Grindelwald. I only need to hold you at bay for a few more minutes before my own reinforcements arrive and we can end this.”

Grindelwald allowed one last, dangerous smirk to cross his lips before all hell broke loose. “Ah, Emily Riddle, you do not have minutes.”

Grindelwald stabbed his wand towards Emily and a strand of silver light coiled towards her through the air. In response, Emily thrust her wand upwards, sending a bolt of white-hot energy careening into Grindelwald’s spell. The resulting explosion caused the air to crackle as it seemed to heat and supercharge around them. Riddle recovered faster, slashing her wand towards Grindelwald and sending him flying backwards. Sigmund recognized the spell as a Banishing Hex, but it was so powerful it was positively laughable to call it as such. Grindelwald was travelling faster than his eyes could track. 

Before he could slam into the distant wall of the courtyard, Grindelwald vanished out of thin air. Sigmund realized with some trepidation that it must have been apparation, but he had always thought one needed to turn to apparate. Grindelwald hadn’t bothered; he had simply vanished. 

He appeared behind Emily in the same instance. She spun to face him but with a flick of his wand, she shot straight up into the air like a cork before, with a downward slash, he sent her plummeting at terminal velocity, head-first towards the ground. Right before impact, her fall stopped suddenly. So suddenly that Sigmund was worried for her spine and neck, though she seemed perfectly alright as she steadied herself, now standing twenty or so meters from Grindelwald. 

As she was falling, Grindelwald had weaved his wand through the air and as soon as she landed, he slashed it viciously towards her, causing a massive sphere of what appeared to be purely supercharged air to shoot towards Riddle at Mach speed. With a flick of her wand, Emily banished the sphere into the sky before sending it back towards Grindelwald, who had to hastily conjure a shining dome of silver energy to protect himself. Even then, he staggered. Sigmund, though he was well out of the way, found himself thrown to the ground as it shook violently from the explosion caused by the sphere’s collision with Grindelwald’s shield.

Despite all of his experience in major duelling tournaments and seeing Shevchenko at work, Sigmund had never seen anything like this; nor had he ever imagined something like it was possible. Giaus had taught them to revere Grindelwald as a god and though Sigmund had never bought into that — not even when he was six — he could confidently say that the battle unfolding in front of his eyes resembled a battle between two gods who wished to show each other up for the pleasure of the humans who worshipped them. 

Now, it was Emily’s turn to go on the offensive. Quick as a whip, she drew her wand towards her chest before slashing outwards towards Grindelwald. There was a distortion as a translucent, barely visible form took shape from what appeared to be the air itself. It looked to be an impossibly massive serpent and it quickly unravelled from its tightly coiled posture and reared back, clearly ready to strike. With blinding speed, it tore straight through Grindelwald’s shield. Doing so had obviously taken the spell to its limits, as it dissipated harmlessly after punching through the same silvery shield Grindelwald had used not a moment earlier, though this time, the blow took an effect on the shield’s wielder. 

Grindelwald cried out as he fell to his knees and at that moment, Sigmund knew it was over, even before Emily fired off her next curse. 

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Unbelievably, Grindelwald did the impossible. At that same instant and from his knees, with his wand held out in front of him, he cried his incantation for the world to hear — the first spell he had verbalized during the duel.

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!” 

Just as the green light was about to consume the dark lord, the air blurred in front of him and almost seemed to shift to a distinguishable, grey colour. With a sound like a gunshot but a hundred times louder, the curse slammed into what Sigmund would realize much later in life was air that had been solidified through magic itself. 

The air stopped the curse, but it was ripped apart in the process. From where the barrier of air had been torn apart, waves of heat emanated outwards in all directions, causing the air itself to crackle and pop as if it had been solidified once more and shoved into a microwave. 

As Grindelwald shakily got to his feet and stared down Emily Riddle — whose mouth hung agape in shock — waves of a similar, if admittedly lesser, heat were rolling off of the man himself. The stone around him was steaming as his steely gaze fell on Riddle. Sigmund noticed that Grindelwald’s face was tinged red. He wasn’t perspiring yet, but Sigmund knew it was close. 

Then, Grindelwald laughed. “You fight very well!” he commended. “An aerokinetic as well? How very interesting you are, Emily Riddle. Unfortunately, your attack was singular and lacked the sophistication it would have taken to conquer one like myself,” His smirk returned for the first time during the duel. “Allow me to enlighten you as to a far better option, provided, of course, you can keep up!”

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!” he incanted once more, drawing intricate patterns in the air with his wand. This time, instead of a barrier, the air bent into a countless number of identical shapes and Sigmund’s jaw had fallen agape. Grindelwald had conjured an army of swordsmen made completely of air. He had no doubt their swords would be lethal. Emily sent a volley of spellfire that simply caused them to split apart for a mere second before moulding back together. 

Sigmund couldn’t see how in the world she was going to counter this kind of attack. For a terrifying second, Emily looked as puzzled as Sigmund felt and her spells continued to be ineffective. Then, with a hard, determined look in her eyes, she flourished her wand out elaborately.

“FIENDFYRE!”

Again, the torrent of hellfire erupted from the end of her wand and took the form of the same, massive serpent Sigmund had seen in the bowels of Katalysator. This time, when it burnt straight through the advancing army, they did not reform. Emily choked as her fire tore the air apart. It seemed to remain intact but suddenly felt quite thin, and Sigmund wondered if the spell hadn’t just consumed much of the oxygen in the area as it travelled towards Grindelwald. 

With a thrust of her wand, Emily sent the flaming serpent striking at Grindelwald — who was by this point sweating profusely — but he stayed completely calm as he jabbed his wand towards the serpent. 

“Hölleneis!”

As the serpent of unholy fire bared down on Grindelwald, something black and vast flowed from his wand like quicksilver. Almost like black smoke or fog, but a thousand times more terrifying to Sigmund. 

He had never felt anything like when Emily had used Fiendfyre for the first time, but this spell gave off a similar feeling. Only, it was the exact opposite. With Fiendfyre, the air crackled and popped around the flames as if it were being microwaved. Any air in the way of Grindelwald’s spell seemed to grow heavy and hard to take in. It was like the oxygen all around them was being instantaneously frozen solid. 

When the two spells met, the Fiendfyre didn’t immediately consume this offering, which was a new sight to Sigmund. The two opposing forces collided with the impact of titans and the very world around them seemed to groan in protest as balance was sought. Grindelwald’s spell seemed to morph into a tornado that kept trying to engulf and suffocate Riddle’s snake, which in turn was trying to burn its way straight out of its magical confines. In the end, the two spells cancelled out, sending steam billowing a hundred feet into the air and giving the false impression that the courtyard had been blanketed in the heaviest fog one could possibly imagine. 

The stone on Emily’s side was smoking and some of it closer to the centre of the two combatants had even melted. On Grindelwald’s side of the courtyard, much of the stone had completely turned to ice. 

Then, Sigmund watched in disbelief as the waves of heat emanating from Grindelwald melted the ice in front of his very eyes.

It was hard to judge who was winning. Grindelwald had fallen to his knees, but he had probably controlled most of the duel by definition. Now though, Sigmund noticed the obvious differences between the two of them. Beads of sweat were rolling down Grindelwald’s face and though he wasn’t necessarily breathing heavily, it was certainly not an easy stream of breath. Opposite him, Emily had only just started to breathe heavily, and there was but a thin layer of sweat coating her face.

“Concede!” she ordered, jabbing her wand threateningly towards Grindelwald. “You’re defeated; if this continues, I’m going to kill you.”

Grindelwald scowled. “You are powerful. More powerful than any I have met before you. Unfortunately, you are young, arrogant, and foolish.” 

Grindelwald swished his wand and the stones around Emily rose and took the shape of a hundred faceless warriors. As she raised her wand to counter, Grindelwald thrust his own straight up above his head and cried out for the heavens to hear him.

“FULMA!”

As Emily conjured a ring of fire to protect her from the stone-faced warriors, thunder boomed as the sky itself seemed to groan and, suddenly, an unnaturally massive shard of lightning ripped through the clear sky. Emily’s face paled as she came to the same realization that Sigmund did. 

She wouldn’t have time to defend herself.

At the last possible moment, a contraption that Sigmund had never before seen — but that Emily knew to be a lightning rod — appeared out of nowhere and the blast of lightning was pulled off course, sparing Emily. Grindelwald, who was now audibly panting cursed in German.

“Unfortunately for yourself, Gellert, you suffer from many of the same unfortunate predispositions that you accused Miss Riddle of falling prey to.”

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the source of the voice. A tall, thin man with the longest beard Sigmund had ever seen had appeared in the courtyard. His wand was drawn and he wore robes of pure white, though there was very clearly some kind of armour underneath them.

All around them, men and women in black robes were appearing and glancing briefly at the new arrival before rushing down into the depths of Katalysator. Vaguely, Sigmund could remember Emily saying something about reinforcements, but that seemed an age ago now. 

Grindelwald laughed openly. “How kind of you to join the dance after so long, Albus.” He scowled and for the first time, Sigmund saw true anger in the man’s eyes. 

“It was inevitable we would meet, Gellert,” the man now identified as Albus said, in a perfectly calm voice. “I had hoped for many years that someone would stop you. However, when it became apparent none were capable, I had little choice but to interpose myself.”

“Yet you do so only after a schoolgirl has done your heavy-lifting for you!” Grindelwald hissed furiously. “You’ve avoided me for all these years and now only show yourself when I am at my weakest.” 

Grindelwald laughed, but it was no longer the calm, cold sound it had been. It was loud, rasping and unhinged. “What would your supporters think of you, Albus, if they knew the truth? Of course, I know the truth. I have known it for many years.” He glanced at Emily once more. “Be wary of this one, Emily Riddle. His facade of morality lasts only as long as he sees prudent. When his true colours are displayed so marvellously for the world to see, his intent will be beautifully painted by the truth of his character and all will see how dangerous he truly is.”

“Enough!” Albus cut in. Sigmund couldn’t help but notice how his voice shook, if only a little. “Gellert, I am giving you one chance to do what is right. The falling of the wards here has left you far too weak to combat me. Your struggle with Miss Riddle is evidence of that. I implore you to see the true greater good, not the lies you have been feeding the world these last number of decades.”

“The true greater good? Oh, Albus, if your little friend only knew the hypocrisy of such a thing,” He cackled once more. “And what would you do with me, Albus, if I saw your greater good?”

“Take you to Azkaban,” Albus said flatly.

Grindelwald’s lip curled. “Pass.” 

His wand moved in a blur towards the bearded man. It appeared to Sigmund as if Grindelwald was using the same spell as Emily had, but it was different. It was not a serpent that formed from the fire — which in and of itself was a vivid green instead of the dark red Emily had conjured— instead, it was a falcon. One that let out a terrible, unearthly cry and flew towards Dumbledore. With a swish of Dumbledore’s wand, his own flaming creature blinked into existence. It was made of the same dark red fire as Emily’s, but that was not what made Sigmund gasp in surprise. He had never seen a phoenix before, but he had read enough about them to recognize one.

Without waiting for the beasts’ tussle to finish, Dumbledore brandished his wand like a whip and a jet of golden fire erupted from the tip of his wand, whistling as it soared towards Grindelwald. 

“AUSÜBEN CAELI!”

For a third time, Grindelwald used that same spell, and, like when he had blocked the killing curse, the air in front of him distorted and seemed to shift to grey. Grindelwald was sent sprawling backwards from the impact of Dumbledore’s spell, but his shield of air dispersed the magic, though it was snuffed out in the process. The phoenix let out a cry of agony as the falcon consumed it, but before it could strike down Dumbledore, Emily stepped in front of him and slashed her wand through the air with a look of utmost concentration. The falcon split apart and the green flames swirled before dying out completely. Dumbledore quickly nodded in thanks before turning back to Grindelwald, who was once more on his feet. Grindelwald raised his wand again, and this time, there was a murderous look in his eyes.

“AUSLOSCHEN!”

Albus didn’t wait for the spell to take effect. After the first syllable, his eyes had widened in unmistakable terror and he immediately began to incant. His voice was a war cry for the first time, it was a terrible mix of fury, power and fear.

“CONVERMETHANU!”

An explosion rocked the very world around them. Grindelwald seemed to be caught in the blast’s epicentre, but Sigmund never saw how he managed not to die. The earth-shattering sound manifested as a deafening WHOOSH and suddenly, the air around Grindelwald wasn’t air at all. As far as Sigmund could tell, it was fire; fire that tried to spread towards the man it now encompassed in a wide, sphere-like shape, reaching greedy, murderous like tentacles towards him as it began to slowly spread.

With a scream of both pain and fury as the heat slammed into him, Grindelwald vanished once more and with a long swish of his wand, Dumbledore returned the air to its previous state.

Emily raised her wand and turned in every direction, evidently waiting for what she viewed as Grindelwald’s inevitable return. Contrary to Emily however, Dumbledore rested a hand on her shoulder. This small action made her flinch away immediately. 

“Be at ease, Emily,” he told her, either not noticing her reaction or being intentionally oblivious, “I think it is safe to say he will not return.”

“What… what were those last two spells, Professor?”

Dumbledore’s face darkened. “Magic that is better left untouched, my dear. Some things should remain untouched by magic but, alas, I could think of but one counter to Grindelwald’s final attack.” 

Emily nodded, but Sigmund could tell by the odd gleam in her eye that she was not at all swayed. Then, she spotted Sigmund looking at her and her features softened almost at once as she strode towards him. As she did so, Sigmund noticed the way Dumbledore looked at her back. The look was something like what the older kids had worn when looking at him over the past couple of years, but it was so much worse.

“Are you alright?” she asked, placing both hands on his shoulders and eyeing him critically. How he managed to speak while absolutely dumbfounded with awe at what he had just witnessed, he would never know.

“I’m f-f-fine, Emily. That was… incredible!”

Emily smiled indulgently down at him. “I must admit, I found the experience rather exhilarating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yes, yes, I know. We haven’t even gotten to Gilderoy yet. His story gets told in detail during part two of this chapter, which is next up. There was a ton of foreshadowing, past exposition and world-building to do here, so I hope you all don’t mind me spending the words on it. I promise all of this will get tied back into the main story soon.**
> 
> **Before I sign off, I want to give massive shoutouts to both Regress and especially Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams for their help in making sure I didn’t completely contradict scientific principles that I will never understand. Your assistance, time and effort were and will always be very much appreciated.**
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> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, February 6th, 2021. Or you can read it now by joining my Discord server or signing up to my Patreon page.**


	35. The Legacy of Katalysator Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
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_**September 1, 1945  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland  
7:02 PM** _

“Lockhart, Sigmund,” Dumbledore called from his spot beside the spindle-legged stool, upon which laid a hat that had just finished singing a song. Sigmund sped towards the stool without an ounce of the nervousness that had been shown by his peers. Granted, he was a transfer student to Hogwarts, as opposed to a wide-eyed first-year entering the school’s hallowed halls for the very first time.

Already, Sigmund could tell that the education at Hogwarts would be far different from that at Katalysator. He wondered — not for the first time since the defeat of Grindelwald — what had become of the underground facility that had been his home for most of his life. He couldn’t say he missed it, per se, but he also couldn’t say that he was a fan of the muggle orphanage he had been assigned. There was nothing wrong with it, really. The children were all treated fairly well, but Sigmund had been forced to grow up very fast at Katalysator and he felt years older than his contemporaries in the orphanage. There was also the fact that he was unaccustomed to being unable to use magic whenever he pleased. It was probably the shift that he was least happy about.

He had ridden the train alone that morning to Hogwarts. A few people had popped in and introduced themselves but none had stayed for long. No first-year wanted to sit with a third year, even if they were both new students — that prospect was simply far too intimidating. On the flip side of the coin, the third years all had their friend groups established and none of them had ordained to branch out during the ride. Sigmund didn’t blame them. He had never really associated with anyone at Katalysator except for Simon and, in the beginning, Ivan. After his duelling victories, everybody had turned on him rather quickly, so he had merely associated with the one person he had known he could count on.

Thoughts of Simon — more specifically, the image of his glassy-eyed form lying face-up on the hard, cold stone floor of Katalysator — were still rather painful, but Sigmund tried to force all of those thoughts from his mind as he stepped forward and took his seat on the rickety stool. He noticed a small spark of recognition had lit up in Albus Dumbledore’s eyes.

_‘Hmm,’_ mused the soft voice of the Sorting Hat upon being placed atop his head, _‘you have the potential to be rather difficult, Sigmund… or is it Gideon?’_

_‘Sigmund, please,’_ he thought. He liked the name Sigmund, and though he honestly could not say he looked back at his time in Katalysator fondly, it was a part of him that was important. Such an important part of him like that shouldn’t simply be discarded and forgotten. With some disgust, he realized Shevchenko would probably have told him that. That was another topic that made his blood positively boil. Shevchenko — Grindelwald’s right-hand man, as far as Sigmund knew — had gotten off with only three years in Azkaban prison. He had given up names of high-ranking officials in the empire, and in exchange, the ICW had granted him a lesser sentence in Azkaban.

_‘Sigmund, then,’_ the hat agreed. _‘You have had a very interesting life already, haven’t you? I am most sorry for your friends and family, but the experiences have made you great.’ Sigmund thought the comment a touch insensitive, but he didn’t disagree with the hat. If Katalysator had taught him any lessons worth keeping, it was that sometimes a blunt approach was the best and that one would have a rather difficult life if they didn’t possess a thick skin._

_‘You are wise beyond your years,’_ the hat told him. _‘Rowena would roll over in her grave if I did not christen you an eagle but, then again, Godric and Salazar would kill for such a protégé.’_

_‘What about Hufflepuff?’_ asked Sigmund. He had read up on the four houses in a battered copy of Hogwarts, A History that he had managed to purchase second-hand with the small number of galleons he had been given to go shopping. He thought he was quite hardworking.

_‘Oh ho! Is it Hufflepuff you want?’_

Sigmund tried to give the mental equivalent of a shrug but was unsure if he succeeded or if such a thing even existed at all. ‘I don’t really care what house I’m in, I was just surprised you didn’t mention it.’

_‘Ah yes. You do fit all four houses in a sense, but I think we can rule out Helga’s, bless her soul. You fit it, most certainly, but far less so than the other houses. You are wise beyond your years and you have pursued knowledge for much of your life. But then again, from the age of six, you desired to escape and to take revenge. You wanted to be strong enough to hurt those who hurt you. If that is not the definition of ambition, I don’t know what is!’_

_‘And Gryffindor?’_ Sigmund prompted inquisitively.

_‘Well, you would not be sitting in front of me without the traits Godric most cherished. You have a resilience that Gryffindor house is well-known for. Any number of the things in your life could have broken you. Yet you stand before me — as a matter of speaking, of course — as strong as any who have ever taken your place on this stool before. You faced death and did not cower, but spoke your mind. Yes… it is difficult, very difficult, but I think you will do quite well in—’_

_“GRYFFINDOR!”_

Sigmund stood far more calmly than the others. He caught a small, nearly imperceptible smile on the face of Albus Dumbledore as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. One of the third-year boys shuffled down several seats to allow Sigmund a spot, something he was thankful for. It would have been rather awkward had he been forced to sit with the first years.

“Welcome aboard!” the boy told him with a charismatic smile and an outstretched hand. “The name’s Prichard, Simon Prichard.”

Sigmund felt his heart skip a beat at the name. Another Simon. Bitterly painful memories swam to the forefront of his mind once more, but he did the best he could to shove them down as ruthlessly as he had the feelings of isolation, fury and despair after the death of his former friend. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Simon,” said Sigmund, taking the hand of the boy who would quickly become one of his best friends. “The name’s Lockhart, Sigmund Lockhart.”

_**September 3, 1945  
The Transfiguration Classroom, Hogwarts  
10:30 AM** _

“Master Lockhart.” Professor Dumbledore’s voice rang through the class as the bell to signify its conclusion sounded through the castle. “If you have a moment, I would be profoundly grateful if you would spend it chatting with me.” 

Many of the students would have snickered at the man’s remarks, but since his defeat of Grindelwald, most of Hogwarts simply looked at Dumbledore with slacked jaws — even if he had taught them Transfiguration for years.

“I’ll wait for you,” Simon told him, but Sigmund just smiled back at him and waved him off.

“Don’t bother. I don’t want you to be late for class on my account, and I’m not sure how long this will take.” 

Simon shrugged in acquiescence, leaving Sigmund alone in the room with the man whom he had last seen duelling Gellert Grindelwald.

“I take it that you remember me?” asked Dumbledore, sounding more curious than anything else.

Sigmund nodded. “Yes, sir. I don’t think I can ever forget, I doubt I’ll ever see anything like that day again — let alone forget about it.”

“Let us hope that you must never see such things once more. My preconceived plan, Master Lockhart, was to ask how you were managing the drastic shift in culture and pace. Though, seeing as you outperformed all of your peers today in my class with what appeared to be little to no effort, I fear my question may be needless.”

Sigmund hesitated. “It’s… very different, sir. I’m not worried about the wanded subjects, but I think I may be behind in a lot of others.”

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate before asking his next question. “Sigmund, please refuse a professor’s prying if it is in any way unwanted, but — and I ask this in the strictest of confidences — what truly happened in the facility of Katalysator?” 

Sigmund’s eyes widened. “Did it not say in the papers, Professor?”

“It did,” Dumbledore said carefully, but as he did so, he pierced Sigmund with that blue-eyed stare. “But we both know that the papers did not tell the full story.” At Sigmund’s look of surprise, Dumbledore sighed, and he suddenly looked how Sigmund thought he ought to fifty years from now. “Come, Sigmund, surely you noted the familiarity with which myself and Grindelwald addressed one another?” 

Hesitantly, Sigmund nodded. “You knew him, sir, didn’t you?”

“Knew him? Oh, Sigmund, that is not a strong enough piece of terminology. But yes, I knew Gellert Grindelwald. I dare say I once knew more about the man than any being, dead or alive. Consequently, I know that Gellert’s primary philosophy — well, aside from the greater good which he preached, of course — was that no action should be taken without definite and precise reasoning. Gellert would not have merely imprisoned children for the sake of it as the papers across the globe seem to universally believe. Gellert was many things, but a psychopath was not one of them. A more apt description would be an extremely high-functioning sociopath whose intent led him very far astray. With this in mind, I can say with the utmost certainty that Grindelwald had a very definite purpose for Katalysator. If you do not wish to discuss it, I will of course respect that as your right. But if you would be willing, I would be immeasurably grateful.”

Sigmund sighed. “Can you answer a question of mine if I answer a question of yours, Professor?”

Dumbledore looked surprised by the query but nodded quickly. “You need merely only ever ask for me to part with bits of knowledge that I have collected over my years. For the sake of your proposal, however, you have yourself a deal.”

Sigmund hesitated. “It was a sort of school,” he answered. “They started teaching us history when I was six and magic came a year or so later. We started with small stuff but worked our way up. The better you did in class, the more opportunities you got.”

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. “Is it safe to assume that your freedom was rather limited while under the care of Grindelwald’s empire?”

Sigmund nodded. “We were only allowed out of our rooms for lessons, meals, and restroom breaks; or the library, if we were granted special permission.”

Dumbledore sighed. “So it was a facility to train and condition the next generation of Gellert’s forces.” He looked disgusted. “I cannot, in all honesty, say that I am surprised.” He fixed Sigmund with that same, penetrating gaze. “I will allow you to ask your question, but first, is it also safe to assume you are rather far ahead of the Hogwarts curriculum for your age?”

“Only in the wanded subjects, really, but yes, I’m rather far ahead in those.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I shall make this class more interesting for you then,” he decided before taking on a resigned look. “You may now ask me your question. The only things I would ask you to avoid are questions centring around Gellert and the duel you witnessed.”

That was perfectly fine with Sigmund since he was planning to ask nothing of that sort. 

“Well, sir, I was wondering if you know where Emily Riddle is now or what she’s doing?” 

Sigmund could have sworn he saw something flash in the professor’s eyes, but it was gone so fast he could neither register nor analyze it appropriately.

“Emily Riddle has taken up a position at a rather, how should I say… questionable establishment.” Dumbledore fixed him with a hard look. “I would advise you not to pursue that avenue, Sigmund. Though, if you must know, she took up a position at Borgin and Burke’s — a shop in Knockturn Alley.” 

He hesitated before making his next statement. “If you must pursue a meeting with her, please be on guard and know that it would be best if you were not seen in Knockturn Alley.”

Sigmund nodded his understanding. “Thank you, sir.”

_**June 21st, 1946  
The Hogwarts Express  
4:46 PM** _

_Finest of greetings,  
The most marvellous institution that is Hogwarts thanks you profusely for your dedication and eagerness with your education this year and we eagerly await your return next September! _

_Wishing you the most satisfactory of summers,_

_Albus Dumbledore  
Order of Merlin First Class  
Deputy Headmaster_

Enclosed was the list of passing and failing grades and Sigmund’s individual grades themselves. 

They had never been graded at Katalysator and it was a sort of rush he had not experienced before to look down and feel his chest swell with pride, even if he had known he would score very well — at least in the wanded subjects. He had been asked to perform magic like that since he was ten or eleven. 

Hogwarts built students up, Katalysator threw them to the wolves. For many of the pupils of Katalysator, that formula broke them. But for those who embraced it, they quickly jumped far ahead of their contemporaries, who were bound to more traditional lines of education. Hogwarts cared about pumping out dozens of competent witches and wizards each and every year. Katalysator, as Sigmund now understood, cared about producing the best soldiers possible, even if many never quite made the cut.

“Oi, Sigmund, you okay?” Simon Prichard asked him.

He shook his head, ridding himself of the memories. “Yeah, thanks, Simon. I sort of spaced out there.” Then, he looked down at the parchment once more.

_Sigmund Lockhart has achieved:_

_Ancient Runes - O_

_Arithmancy - E_

_Astronomy - A_

_Care of Magical Creatures - E+_

_Charms - O+_

_Defence Against The Dark Arts - O+_

_Herbology - A_

_History of Magic - A_

_Potions - E_

_Transfiguration - O_

Sigmund had expected the low grades in Astronomy, Herbology and History of Magic. His history teachings had been rather selective and biased at Katalysator, and they had not focused on Magical Britain. Besides, it was rather difficult to catch up when the professor specialized in putting a group of students to sleep. As for Astronomy and Herbology, the fact that he had passed at all was rather miraculous. They had never bothered with it at Katalysator, and he’d found himself so far behind his peers in September that it had been quite laughable. 

He wasn’t that bothered with Astronomy, if he was honest with himself. If he ever needed it, he would grab a star chart and that would be the end of it. He just didn’t see the value in knowing it, and it seemed like more of a waste of time than anything else.

Sigmund wanted an O+ in Transfiguration, but knew that such a thing would be a stretch, with Dumbledore teaching — the man just expected so much of him. He would have also liked an O in Potions, but they had never spent a whole lot of time on them in Katalysator. 

Perhaps next school year he would ask Professor Slughorn for some additional assistance. 

“Let me guess,” interjected Simon with a roll of his eyes. “Straight O’s in the wanded subjects?”

Despite himself, Sigmund smirked as he passed the parchment over to his best friend. “See for yourself.”

_**August 14, 1946  
Borgin and Burke’s, Knockturn Alley  
2:43 PM** _

It did not take Sigmund long to realize after entering the alley exactly why Professor Dumbledore had advised him not to be caught here all those months ago. It was a sketchy place, full of magic that he knew Britain’s government would classify as ‘dark’. 

He had been taught that dark magic did not exist, but if truth be told, he wasn’t really sure what to think on the matter. If nothing else, any magic designed to kill or torment was on his personal shit list.

It had taken more than a week after he received his Hogwarts letter to slip out of the orphanage and make his way to the alley. By now, he had acquired all the necessary items, but he had one more thing to do.

If he were any other thirteen-year-old boy, Sigmund would have been terrified to enter the dingy shop that was Borgin and Burke’s. As it was, he had seen far more than any kid his age had the right to, and frankly, after watching three titans go to war in the courtyard of Katalysator, he couldn’t say that there was much in the world that scared him. The things he was nervous about were more mundane — if Emily wasn’t in, how would he explain his presence? If she was in the back and he asked for her, would whoever was working the front actually fetch her? If he did manage to see her, would she recognize him? And if she did, would she even care?

All of those thoughts were washed away when he entered the sketchy establishment to see the tall, stunning girl with raven-coloured hair examining something on a shelf with a fair bit of interest. 

He tried to speak twice before he finally managed, but when he did, his voice was surprisingly even. “Emily?”

Upon hearing her first name, Emily paused and stiffened, slowly turning around in a fairly defensive posture. 

When her eyes landed on Sigmund, there was a split second of confusion before her face split into a radiant expression. “Sigmund! Is that you? I wasn’t sure we would ever meet again!” 

Sigmund nodded and stepped forward to meet her, finding himself rather surprised when the older girl wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her for a few seconds. 

“Did you attend Hogwarts this year?” she asked him when they broke apart, ignoring the faint blush that had risen on his cheeks. 

“Yes,” he told her. “It was a bit… different from what I was used to.”

Emily’s eyes darkened. “I can imagine,” she commented, tapping her wand on her wrist and displaying the time in analogue form. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be on break for another ten minutes, but Borgin isn’t exactly one for enforcing rules. Would you like to get lunch in Diagon? If you have the time, of course.”

Sigmund hesitated. “I have the time, but I don’t, uh... have the money.” 

It was a rather blunt admission but completely true. The money he was granted each summer from Hogwarts was enough to cover his school things if they were purchased second-hand, but barely.

Emily just waved her hand and smiled at him exasperatedly. “I would hardly ask you lunch and make you pay, would I? That would be quite rude on my part, especially since you took the time out of your day to come and find me.” She glanced around the shop before speaking. “I do hope you realize the crowd that frequents Knockturn Alley. I would feel guilty if you were hurt on my account.”

“I do,” he assured. “I’m not trying to brag or anything, but I’ve seen a lot worse. It takes a fair bit to worry me nowadays.” 

Emily nodded her acceptance of that statement and quickly summoned a fashionable purse with a wave of her wand. She led him out of the shop and back up towards the main alley. 

As they walked, Sigmund couldn’t help but notice the absence of the hungry stares that had bored into him on his initial journey down Knockturn. It wasn’t difficult to realize why. Danger positively dripped from Emily. He had no idea how she did it, but her entire demeanour screamed ‘do not cross me.’ Sigmund would have found it astonishingly impressive had he not seen the young woman duel Gellert Grindelwald to a near stalemate while still in her seventh year at Hogwarts.

They discussed a great number of things during their lunch together at one of the alley’s nicer establishments. Emily asked him about Hogwarts and his grades, expressing her congratulations at the O+’s he had achieved. 

When he mentioned Slughorn, her eyes gleamed. 

“I’m not really sure how I should approach him about help,” Sigmund admitted. “We… uh, weren’t really encouraged to ask for help in Katalysator.”

Emily just smiled at him. “Oh, that will be no trouble. Tell him I send him my regards and that he is more than welcome to owl me.” 

Sigmund didn’t understand the hidden context there, but he accepted her words quite easily.

When they had finished, Sigmund thanked her gratefully once more for saving his life and she again just smiled at him. “I would hardly let somebody as adorable as you die, would I?” When he blushed, she smirked and gave him a mocking pat on the head. “How are you getting back to the orphanage?” 

He shrugged. “I’ll just walk.”

“With that trunk?” she asked, indicating the bulky, secondhand model he had purchased. It wasn’t equipped with Shrinking Charms, since those models were out of his financial range and the ban on underage sorcery made doing so himself impossible.

He shrugged again. “I bought it last summer. I’ve done the trip with it a couple of times.” 

“That… is a travesty,” Emily declared. She pulled her wand from her robes and twirled it elegantly through the air in complex patterns that Sigmund thought resembled runes he had seen in the back pages of his textbook. Some — most, if truth be told — he didn’t recognize, but Emily only took a minute before sliding her wand up her sleeve. “Done,” she told him. “From now on, just tap the trunk with your wand to shrink it and do the same to restore it.” 

Sigmund gaped at her. Those kinds of charms cost dozens of galleons and she had just casually done it for him, free of charge. “How do you just do things like that?” he asked her, perplexed. 

There had been a time when Sigmund had thought himself a sort of prodigy. Then he had met Emily Riddle and he knew that he would never match what she had been capable of at eighteen. If he was a prodigy, she was a once in a lifetime talent — if not a once ever.

She smirked. “As I recall telling you that first day, I am simply better at magic than most.” 

Sigmund just rolled his eyes.

“You should teach me,” he said, only half-joking.

There was a long pause in which Emily appraised him, but she smiled softly at him. “Ask me that again in a few years and I might reconsider.” She stood, offering him her hand. “Come on, I’ll apparate you back to the orphanage. I still have ten minutes left of break and it will save you an hour of walking.”

_**November 6, 1947  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
10:14 PM** _

Sigmund was walking on eggshells as he fingered his wand whilst walking down a particularly dark and shadowy corridor one Thursday night in early November.

That summer he had been made the fifth-year Gryffindor male prefect. He considered it a massive achievement, especially when considering all the adaptation he’d needed to do following his arrival in the UK.

An adaptation that he was still very much working on.

Luckily for him, he had crafted quite the reputation since his arrival at the castle more than two years earlier. He had continued his prowess in the wanded subjects and was unanimously considered the most talented student in the school. His Arithmancy grade was creeping up, and he was determined to score an O on the O.W.L. exam that awaited him in June. His Potions grade had soared, largely due to the help of Horace Slughorn — who had suddenly been all too willing to help him after they had spoken about Sigmund’s friendship with Emily. 

It was something that perplexed him greatly, but he was hardly going to complain. The man had been a massive aid, both in and out of classes.

One area he hadn’t adapted quite as well in was his communication skills. It was by far his biggest downfall as a prefect. Cassandra, the other fifth-year prefect, was a million times better at it than he was. She had a calm, cool countenance and seemed to radiate a quiet sort of confidence. 

Sigmund was different.

They hadn’t exactly been encouraged to give orders in Katalysator. They had been far too busy taking orders. Communication wasn’t something they had spent a whole lot of time working on — not in this sort of way, at least. Subsequently, Sigmund largely chose to lead by example and let Cassandra lead through her words. She had been trying to coax him into speaking up more recently, in her own sort of way, but he was quite reluctant to come out of that shell and risk making an absolute ass out of himself.

None of that was currently on his mind, though.

In less than forty-eight hours, Gryffindor would open their Quidditch season against Slytherin. Sigmund wasn’t a Quidditch player, but he still had a vested interest in the match. 

For one thing, the Slytherin versus Gryffindor rivalry was as old as Hogwarts itself and as intense as any feud Sigmund had ever witnessed. For that reason alone, he wanted his house to triumph, but it was far more complicated than that.

That rivalry tended to escalate during the build-up to matches, which made his life as a prefect absolutely hellacious. It was unbelievably stressful trying to keep everyone in line whilst the tensions in the castle were so high, and that was the precise reason why Sigmund was currently ready to draw his wand at any moment.

It was fortunate that was the case, for a high-pitched scream sounded from somewhere nearby.

In a flash, Sigmund’s wand was in his hand and he had located the fray with a hasty Homenum Revelio. There were four people in a nearby classroom, and it was in that direction Sigmund charged. 

When he realized the door was locked, he cast a Silencing Ward on the corridor and blew the classroom’s door off its hinges. Three wands turned on him right away, all belonging to upper-year Slytherins. Two of the assailants found themselves disarmed and lying face-down faster than they could fire a spell. The third did get off a nasty curse which would cause the skin to become extra vulnerable to the elements and risk long-term damage, but Sigmund had him bound faster than the boy could have ever anticipated. 

The final figure in the room was Cassandra, who was slumped against the far wall. To Sigmund’s relief, she seemed to be both unharmed and fully clothed. That ruled out the darkest possibility right away, something the lone-surviving Lockhart was grateful for since he would have had no idea how to handle that if it was the case.

“Cassandra,” he breathed, rushing over to her at once. “Are you okay?” 

She nodded mutely. 

“What happened?”

“They were t-terrorizing one of the first years, so I stepped in.” She winced. “They… didn’t like the idea of taking orders from a Gryffindor prefect and decided it was time to show me a lesson.” 

Sigmund breathed out through his nose. “Thank Merlin you’re alright. Jugson — the one who got off a curse — is a really good duellist. It’s a miracle he didn’t get any hits in.”

Cassandra looked at the floor and mumbled, “I’m going to give up my badge.”

Sigmund looked incredulous. “You’re what?!”

“I’m going to go to Professor Dumbledore and give up my badge.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because I don’t deserve to be a prefect. This proved it; if I can’t defend myself or protect others, I don’t deserve to be a prefect. It’s just that simple.”

“Cassandra, that’s the single most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She looked up at him with wide eyes, but he didn’t allow her time to interject. “That’s completely off the mark. Everyone has their strengths. We’re not all good at everything.” He hesitated. “I… was forced to learn how to fight when I was really young. I started learning magic way before all of you because, if I didn’t, I would have gotten badly hurt.”

Cassandra’s expression changed. It was now one of confusion and concern, but Sigmund continued before she could divert the topic of conversation, clearing his throat and ridding himself of the memories that came unbidden with his words.

“The point is, that’s why I’m good at magic. The thing is, both of us know I’m useless at being a leader.” Cassandra opened her mouth to argue, but Sigmund shushed her with a hand gesture. “Don’t argue. It’s true, and that’s okay. As I said, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. I’m good at magic, but you’re the best leader we have in the house. If you stepped down as prefect, everything would go sideways within three days. We need you, Cassandra. Just because you’re not good at this one thing doesn’t mean you’re a useless prefect.”

A long beat of silence stretched between them. 

“Do you really mean all of that?”

Sigmund nodded emphatically. “Yes, I do.”

More silence. 

“Okay,” she said softly, “I’ll stay on as a prefect.” She raised a hand to command his attention before he could comment on her proclamation. “I’ll stay a prefect on two conditions.”

He frowned; this had not been part of his plan. “What are your conditions?”

“One of them is that you teach me how to duel. I understand your point, but I refuse to be some helpless damsel in distress who can’t defend herself or back up what she says, especially if you want me to be some sort of leader.”

“Done—”

“Second,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “is that you start being a leader.”

His mouth suddenly went dry. 

“Why—”

“Because you can do it, Sigmund. I understand everything you’re saying about strengths and weaknesses, but you’re missing a major point. We’re supposed to work on our weaknesses, not hide from them.” When she saw the dark look in his eyes, she surprised him by reaching out from her seated position, taking his hand, and pulling herself upright. When she stood, she didn’t release her grip. “I can tell you have a reason for not wanting to, but you won’t regret trying it. Who knows, it might even help you get over whatever is stopping you from trying in the first place.” 

She put on a perfectly persuasive face when she saw he was still obviously reluctant. “Do we have a deal?”

He sighed very deeply, but nodded.

_**June 26, 1948  
Borgin and Burke’s  
1:00 PM** _

Sigmund left Borgin and Burke’s on one of his first days of summer between his fifth and sixth years of Hogwarts feeling more dejected than he had ever felt before. A lot had happened since that first meeting with Emily almost two years ago. He had continued his aptitude for the wanded courses and even raised his Potions and Arithmancy grades to O’s as well. As a direct result, he had been the male Gryffindor prefect the summer previous and he had even entered a rather enjoyable relationship with fellow Gryffindor prefect Cassandra Collins; the same muggleborn girl who he had saved and spoken with that fateful Thursday in November.

He had followed through on his promise to teach her to duel, and she had actually become quite good at it. She would never be a duelling champion, but she was more than competent and would have no trouble defending herself in the future.

Getting him to come out of his shell had been more difficult, but Sigmund had put in a conscientious effort. According to her, he was doing very well. He would never be the leader of the house — nor did she demand that of him — but he had taken steps in the right direction, which was all she had asked for.

Last summer, in addition to being named a prefect, Sigmund had spent numerous days at lunch with Emily. He had slipped away from the orphanage whenever he could, and she always seemed to have time for him. He had told her that he felt guilty about her spending so much money on his food and even buying him quality school supplies as well as several books, but she had simply shushed him and continued the arrangement. 

She had become a kind of older sister to Sigmund, somebody whom he truly adored and admired. 

Now, though, as he left Borgin and Burke’s after attempting to continue the tradition, he felt rather put out. Apparently, Emily had left the country due to her obligations and would likely not return for several years. It was probable that Sigmund would not see Emily again before he graduated Hogwarts, and that thought broke his heart.

_**June 8, 1950  
The Potions Classroom, Hogwarts  
3:00 PM** _

Sigmund sighed with relief as he finished the final exam of his N.E.W.T’s. The year had been a rather stressful one, between trying to keep up on his classes and balancing that with his obligations as Head Boy and his flourishing relationship with Cassandra. As he packed his potions kit away for the final time, Sigmund remarked on the changes in his life.

“Sigmund, m’boy!” Slughorn boomed. “Would you mind staying behind for a little chat? Nothing to worry about, of course.” 

Sigmund nodded respectfully and allowed all of his classmates to file out before turning to Slughorn. 

“You’re a remarkable young man, Sigmund,” Slughorn told him. “All of your professors rave about your ability and the improvements you’ve made in this class over the years have been astounding!” He smirked. “Being a charming, handsome young lad doesn’t hurt your case either, I dare say, but that’s hardly relevant, now is it?” 

Slughorn tittered at his own joke and Sigmund responded with a warm smile. If not for Dumbledore, Slughorn would likely be his favourite professor. 

“I was wondering, m’boy, with a brain like yours, what you wanted to do now that you’ve passed through Hogwarts with flying colours?”

Sigmund hesitated. He knew the answer, but he was not entirely certain it was the one Slughorn wanted to hear. “I think I want to try my hand at duelling again, sir.”

“You have duelled before?” Slughorn asked, now intensely interested.

Sigmund’s eyes darkened. 

“Whilst I was under the thumb of Grindelwald,” he said quietly, causing Slughorn to pale. “I actually enjoyed it, though,” he added quickly. “I was the youth champion before coming to Hogwarts and I’m miles better now than I was then. I’d like to try my hand at it, I think, but I’m honestly not entirely sure where to start.”

Instead of looking disappointed, as Sigmund feared, Slughorn positively beamed at him. “Well, m’boy, that is precisely why I asked. An old man like me does have some connections, you know?” He chortled. “Why, I daresay you would be the first of my old Slug Club members to go the route of duelling. We are expanding our empire every year!” he joked, but Sigmund got a distinct impression that he was only half-joking.

After a long and informative conversation, and some contact information that Sigmund was genuinely grateful for, he exited the room to see a familiar small, slim blonde waiting for him. 

“What did he want?” Cassandra asked after standing on her tiptoes to peck him on the lips.

Sigmund smiled fondly down at her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s just say, I think I might be able to get us into an apartment faster than I had thought.”

_**February 3, 1958  
The Home of Sigmund Lockhart  
9:14 AM** _

_Sigmund,  
I know you likely believed you would never see me nor hear from me ever again, but I think it's high time I get over myself and pen the letter I should have penned to you a decade ago._

_If truth is to be told, Sigmund, I have feared for many years what you may think of me. I could make all of the excuses here that are expected of me. I could tell you that Grindelwald forced me to shove propaganda down your throats. Though this is true, it is hardly a good reason for doing so. I could lie and tell you that I was under the Imperius Curse, or blackmailed, or whatever else I could come up with._

_The truth is that I willingly followed Gellert Grindelwald for reasons that I cannot reveal to you. That is, at least in the beginning. Katalysator was the catalyst for the opening of my eyes, which is rather ironic because, though I know not how much of your German you maintained, Katalysator is the German word for catalyst. Ignoring my rambling, once I saw that Grindelwald sought to manipulate and brainwash children to use in his army, I began to have second thoughts. These thoughts led to a thorough but subtle inquiry into the true atrocities Grindelwald and men like Shevchenko planned to commit. After that inquiry, you do not know how painful it was to address Shevchenko as anything less than a monster._

_If you have not pieced together the events from the final night of your stay at Katalysator due to your age at the time, allow me to enlighten you. When I saw that the other side was gaining some traction in the war, I made my move. Suffice to say, I contacted the right people and gave them some rather valuable information in exchange for guaranteed protection upon the conclusion of the war. The strike on Katalysator that freed you and the others was orchestrated primarily by myself, as was the final siege on Nurmengard days later._

_What I am trying to convey through all of this is that I am not a terrible human being and nothing would give me more pleasure than to see my first true son again._

_I thought it prudent to inform you that I have sired a daughter, though I am unknowing whether you will care. The boy she will one day marry shall be born in the coming months. He is from a rather prestigious family but will take on my surname when he eventually marries my daughter. Another clause in this contract is that I have a certain say in the boy’s name, as his family had in the name of my daughter, Adriana._

_I have never asked anything of you before and regardless of your feelings towards me, I would like to ask for your blessing to name the boy Sigmund, after you._

_Your internal strength, fortitude and resilience still awe me to this day, just as I still and will always recognize you as the son I had always wished to have._

_Please respond promptly; I will not judge you for whichever route you take in your response._

_I wish you the very best in every regard of your life, and your success on the international duelling stage has brought me much pride. I cannot wait to see it continue._

_Yours truly,  
Giaus Weitts  
Lord of the House of Weitts_

Sigmund considered himself a rather strong person, but at that moment, he could not stop the tears of genuine happiness from rolling freely down his cheeks. 

It would be in that state that Cassandra would find him an hour later.

_**September 24, 1960  
London, England  
3:30 PM** _

The tension inside of the specially constructed arena was tenser than any in attendance had ever imagined was possible, let alone experienced in person. It had been a full decade since the World Duelling Championships had taken place on English soil, and nearly four since one of their countrymen had represented them in a world final on said soil. 

In the 1960 World Championship Final, however, there would be a Brit taking centre stage to battle a man who had been undefeated for longer than England’s wait to host the championships.

Not many gathered in the full capacity crowd honestly believed that the twenty-seven-year-old Sigmund Lockhart had a chance against Igor Shevchenko. Many of the spectators held their collective breath out of nervousness for their champion and in anticipation of the bloodbath that was inevitably on the very near horizon. As a matter of fact, there was only really one woman sitting in the front row of the crowd who truly believed that a rather historical upset was fast approaching.

Cassandra Collins had now been in a relationship with Sigmund since 1947. By now, he had opened up to her about his past, and though she was more than nervous for her boyfriend to square off against the Warlord of Warsaw, she had complete faith in his ability to win. She had been positively blown away as well as moved to tears by his story, but above all else, Cassandra’s belief that Sigmund was the strongest person she had ever met had only been solidified. As much as she acknowledged that her long-time partner was set to take part in the fight of his life, she feared that he would lose control and cost himself the duel just as much.

Meanwhile, in his changing room, Sigmund battled hard for control of his warring emotions. 

On one hand, there was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. He had finally reached the pinnacle of his chosen profession; the finals of the World Championship. One literally could not be on a grander stage than the one that Sigmund was about to take. In many ways, he had been training for this moment for twenty years, and he had indisputably been working towards it for the last ten, ever since his graduation from Hogwarts. 

On another, there were nerves. He was duelling Igor Shevchenko. The man had taken up professional duelling after his release from Azkaban in 1948. Since then, he had been unbeaten and had won the last seven World Championships. Many of his opponents had been forced to retire due to his wrath, and two had even died in the arena.

Then there was yet another emotion that perhaps drowned out all of the others. Well, a blend of two emotions, if Sigmund was being completely honest with himself. A mixture of red-hot fury and adrenaline-driven anticipation. 

Since the age of six, Sigmund had waited for the day he would have the power to claim vengeance on his parents’ murderer. Not only did he have that opportunity today, but he even got to do it legally. Sigmund had been furious when Shevchenko had given up names to assure a lesser sentence but, in a way, he had also loved it. It would mean that his opportunity for revenge was not lost. 

Still, though, something about duelling the man who had taught him how to duel was disconcerting. He had heard of student versus teacher before, but this took the idiom to an entirely new level.

His thoughts were cut off by a loud, resounding gong that rang through the arena. 

With a deep, calming breath, Sigmund pushed himself to his feet, clasped his wand tightly in his steady hand, and marched out of the changing room, preparing himself for what he knew to be the greatest test of his life.

When he entered the arena proper, the English crowd positively showered him in support, but Sigmund was no fool. He could sense the worry — if not fear and anticipation — in the atmosphere. The Brits supported their own, but most of them expected him to lose this battle.

He would make them all proud and give them something to cheer about, all while proving them wrong at the same time.

When Shevchenko walked out, a hush fell over the crowd. Sigmund and Shevchenko met in the centre of the arena. Sigmund wore a blue and gold duelling tunic while Shevchenko wore one that was red and silver — something that made Sigmund’s blood boil even hotter, if such a thing was possible at all.

“You could have been great,” Shevchenko told him simply as they met eyes, standing nose to nose. “Instead, you bit the hand that fed you and now you shall pay.”

Sigmund did not bother replying to Shevchenko's message, he simply delivered one of his own — one he had been waiting to deliver for many years. “I’m going to destroy you. And if you mention my parents, I’ll do more than that.”

Shevchenko smirked and made a grandiose gesture to signify they should begin. Sigmund took his place opposite the man and they both bowed. Shevchenko’s bow was deep, sweeping and mocking, whereas Sigmund’s was barely enough to be considered a bow at all. And then, with the same gong that had signified the time for combat was coming, the duel began in earnest.

Shevchenko fired off four spells before Sigmund could even move, but with a long, sweeping gesture of his wand, a shimmering blue dome appeared around him. The dome absorbed the first spell, and Sigmund winced. It was not so much that he had forgotten the shocking amount of raw power that Shevchenko wielded so effortlessly, it was simply the fact that the last time he had duelled the man, Shevchenko was holding back to the point that it wasn’t a fair representation. The second spell shattered the barrier, but Sigmund managed to bat away the third and dodge the fourth. Before he could get anything else off, more magic was hurtling towards him.

Within the first five minutes, what Sigmund remembered about Shevchenko became evident. The man struck with speed the likes of which Sigmund had never seen. Well, Emily had matched it, if not surpassed it, but Sigmund had realized a long time ago that Emily was probably a once in a century type of sorcerer. Shevchenko could cast faster than anyone Sigmund had ever duelled, and at the same time, he put an absolutely terrifying amount of power into each and every one of his spells. He did not throw spells out there needlessly either, and they were all chosen with vicious intent. 

_“Every spell must have a purpose,”_ was what Shevchenko had told Sigmund at Katalysator all those years ago. _“If your spell is not directly going to help you win, it is useless.”_

The man was a monster, but Sigmund couldn’t call him a hypocrite — he most certainly practiced what he preached. Every spell that he hurled Sigmund’s way had the intention of ending the duel in a very violent manner.

After five minutes, Sigmund started to notice patterns. 

Shevchenko didn’t use wand movements, but his sharp, dark eyes gave away where his spells would be directed. After he cast a chain of spells, Shevchenko would take a break. It was this that Sigmund chose to exploit. After every fourth spell, Sigmund would retaliate with a chain or high-powered spell of his own. Within two minutes of this, Shevchenko was fuming and Sigmund could quite literally see the shift in his demeanour. Perhaps Shevchenko had underestimated his former pupil; perhaps he had thought this duel was a sure win. Now, Sigmund saw the look of utter blank focus slide into place, and suddenly he knew that he was no longer facing the seven-time World Champion. Instead, he was squaring off with the Warlord of Warsaw.

Shevchenko slashed his wand towards Sigmund and for the first time during the duel, he incanted aloud.

“Radicen Fulgur!”

Suddenly, three arcs of lightning hurtled towards him. With wide eyes, Sigmund recognized this spell, though he never thought he would see it in person. It was not as powerful as the lightning spell that Grindelwald had used during the Battle of Katalysator. As a matter of fact, Sigmund had never found any reference to that spell in any tome he had ever searched. Grindelwald’s spell seemed to command lightning itself; it seemed to interact with the earth and force the planet to provide him with lightning. Shevchenko’s variant simply caused the electricity to arc from his wand towards Sigmund, but the benefit here was that he could control each tendril of lightning individually; if he had gained an impressive level of mastery over the spell which — in Sigmund’s estimation — he probably had.

With more than a little bit of déjà vu, Sigmund borrowed the trick that he had seen used by the defeater of Grindelwald over fifteen years ago. With a complex twist of his wand, he conjured a lightning rod from nowhere, which simply absorbed the blast. With another swish of his wand, Sigmund transformed the lightning rod into an oversized spear, which he sent whistling through the air towards Shevchenko. The man tried to raise a shield, but at the last second, Sigmund forced the spear to split into three separate weapons. Though the first slammed into Shevchenko’s shield harmlessly and the second was dodged, the third pierced his ribs painfully and he staggered as he cried out in agony. 

It had not been a fatal blow, nor had it even ended the duel, but that was the moment Sigmund knew the outcome was inevitable. Not only was Shevchenko frustrated and caught off guard by his opponent’s prowess, but he was now badly wounded and losing blood at a terrifying rate. He stumbled around the arena, his movement greatly compromised. 

If it were any other opponent, Sigmund would have looked to end the duel right there and put them out of their misery. This was not any other opponent. It was Igor Shevchenko, the Lieutenant of Grindelwald, the murderer of his parents, Grindelwald’s Sensenmann, and the Warlord of Warsaw; and Sigmund was going to make him pay.

Ten minutes later, Shevchenko’s body slumped to the ground, unmoving. He was not dead — at least, not yet — but he was beaten, battered, and losing a terrifying amount of blood every second. The arena would have been hushed and concerned if they didn’t know as well as their champion did what the man on the floor had done. Instead, every single man, woman, and child in the arena were on their feet, stomping, applauding and cheering on their champion, Sigmund Lockhart. At the time, none of them knew that Sigmund would never be seen in a duelling arena again. 

He had achieved his goals in that area, and now it was onto something that scared him far more than any duelist alive. It was time to start his family — something that he wasted little time in doing as, once he was interviewed after the duel, he wasted no time calling Cassandra forward and, in front of the entire crowd, Sigmund Lockhart got down on one knee and presented her with a ring.

_**January 26, 1961  
St. Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies And Injuries  
4:48 AM** _

For the first time since that day in the arena, Sigmund’s eyes shone with tears as he reached down and took hold of his baby boy for the very first time. It didn’t matter that Cassandra wouldn’t be able to bear any more children, as Sigmund had assured her on numerous occasions. The only things that mattered were the two things closest to him now. His beloved wife and the new love of his life, the boy he would cherish for many years until the day that he died, Gilderoy Gavriel Lockhart. 

His shining eyes found the blue orbs of his wife, who was still splayed out on the bed, clearly exhausted from the night’s events. With a warm smile, Sigmund passed off his son. Seeing the two of them together — the two people who he cared for more than life itself — caused a warmth to rise within him. A warmth he had never felt before and would never quite experience again.

_**February 16, 1961  
The Lockhart Family Home  
8:12 AM** _

_Sigmund,  
It is my deepest regret that I have not had the opportunity to see you in many years. I have been mostly preoccupied with my own goals, but I would like to sincerely congratulate you on both your Duelling World Championship victory and, more importantly, the birth of your son._

_I was in attendance during your duel and I must say that you have come a very long way since that day in Diagon Alley when you asked me to teach you to duel. I am extremely proud of what you have accomplished and one day, when I return to England full time, we shall meet again._

_Take care,  
Emily_

It was not the first letter of congratulations that Sigmund had received since either of the mentioned occasions, but it was perhaps the one which had surprised him the most. Giaus’s letter had certainly caught him off guard, but in retrospect, it was far more predictable than the curveball that had been sent his way by a witch whom he thought he would never hear from again.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud, insistent wailing from nearby as his newborn son tried his utmost to gain his father’s attention. With a soft smile for his near month-old child, Sigmund got to his feet and shifted his focus onto a far more mundane thought pattern.

_**July 10, 1970  
The Lockhart Family Home  
7:23 PM** _

“But WHY?!” Gilderoy asked his father in obvious frustration and dissatisfaction. “I want to be like you, Dad! You’re the best fighter in the world and you said you started when you were my age! Why can’t I?”

The tension at the dinner table suddenly thickened more than many would have thought possible. Sigmund froze for a moment before, with a clatter, his fork fell onto his plate and he put his cup down with an unnecessary amount of force. 

“Firstly, Gilderoy, fighting and duelling are not the same. I was the best duellist in the world at one point, that’s true, but I was never the best fighter. Secondly, the keyword is ‘was.’ I retired as soon as you were born. And, thirdly, my reasons for not teaching you are things that no nine-year-old should ever understand.” 

He didn’t yell — Sigmund never yelled. He had been yelled at far too often at Katalysator to ever yell at his own son. 

“But WHY?!” Gilderoy repeated, his deep blue eyes widening as he seemed to implore his father to open up. “I just want to be like you, Dad! You started when you were young, so you must’ve understood. And you turned out perfectly! I want to be like you! I want to do everything you did!”

There was yet another long pause as Sigmund seemed to debate something internally. “Gilderoy,” scolded Cassandra, “listen to your father. Be respectful or go to your room.”

“No, Cassandra,” Sigmund said softly, and the attention of the rest of the room was drawn onto him.

“Sigmund, you can’t tell him! It’s as you said — there are things that no nine-year-old should know!”

“I don’t intend to tell him anything he doesn’t need to know, but he deserves to know the differences between me and him. And, to a point, he should understand.” He met eyes with his wife and there seemed to be a brief, silent debate before Cassandra sagged. 

“Very well,” she sighed, sitting back in resignation, “I suppose this was always going to happen eventually.”

Sigmund peered across the table at Gilderoy. “You asked me why, Gilderoy? You want to know why I don’t teach you the things I learned at your age?” Gilderoy nodded eagerly, his eyes widening in excitement. “Well, the story starts with a man who was eviler than any other.” He studied his son carefully. “Have you ever heard the name Gellert Grindelwald?”

“I don’t think so,” the young boy answered.

“You understand that some witches and wizards don’t like muggles? You understand that some witches and wizards think they’re automatically better than muggles and even muggleborns because of their magic and their families?” Gilderoy nodded attentively. “That’s nothing new. That idea has been out there for longer than our family has existed at all, and for as long as that idea’s been out there, people have been eager to take a side. Some people believe the nonsense I just told you, and others are like me and your mother. We realize that an idea like that is stupid, but the problem is, both sides feel very strongly about their opinions, and both sides are very stubborn.”

“So they fight?” Gilderoy asked. This sounded a lot like what his mother had told him caused fights.

“Sometimes,” his father answered. “About fifty years ago, a very powerful wizard decided he would use this idea. He decided that wizards shouldn’t hide from muggles anymore and that we should rule them instead.” Sigmund scowled. “The thing that made this worse is that he also wanted to take over all of the wizarding world. He used the muggles as an excuse — as a way to get people to listen to him and help him.”

“He was Grindelwald?”

“He was. While he tried to take over, he took over cities and countries and every time he did, Grindelwald took the children from the people he had killed and he trained them. He tried to get them to believe what he was spreading. He tried to get them to be loyal to him so when they were older — when they had been taught to fight — they would stand alongside him and help him conquer the wizarding world.”

“He killed?” Gilderoy asked in astonished horror.

“Oh, Grindelwald did far worse than kill, but yes, he killed lots and lots of people.” Sigmund fixed Gilderoy with a piercing look. “You remember that I told you that my mum and dad, your grandma and grandpa, died when I was very young?” A nod of affirmation. “They did not just die, they were killed by Grindelwald’s men, and I was one of the kids he trained.” Gilderoy gasped, clasping both of his small hands over his mouth as he stared up at his father as if seeing him for the first time.

“The point of the story is this,” Sigmund told his son, maintaining firm and steady eye contact. “I learnt to fight because I had to. I had no choice but to learn. I also had to know for myself. I wanted nothing more than to escape that place and get back at the people who had hurt me. I wanted to help end the war, Gilderoy, because it was terrible. I never yell at you, never hurt you, and I have a house-elf do all of the chores. Your mother has told me for years now that I am too easy on you, but now you know why.

“I never had a childhood. I was a soldier, not a child. I want you to grow up and choose your own path. There is no war for you to worry about and nobody is trying to hurt you. The best duellists and fighters usually don’t grow up the way you do. The best way to learn something is when you have to learn it — when you have no choice but to learn it. You would have a disadvantage and you have no reason to learn to duel or to fight. There are so many other jobs out there that are so much safer and so much more enjoyable for most people. I don’t want you to have my life, Gilderoy. I don’t want you to be like me because I want you to grow up and live happily ever after. I never want you to go through what I went through. That is why I will not teach you to duel, and it is especially why I won’t teach you to fight.”

_**September 1, 1972  
The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
7:01 PM** _

_‘Ah, another Lockhart, I see. I had wondered if I would meet another one of you. Your father was most interesting, but you are very different, aren’t you?’_

Gilderoy shrugged. _‘He was older and more hard done by.’_

The hat chuckled in his head. _‘Oh yes, he was indeed. I am not surprised that old Sigmund wanted you to grow up away from all of that. If what I have heard is correct, however, he may find that he should have perhaps taken a very different course of action.’_

_‘What do you—’_ But the hat never let Gilderoy finish.

As soon as it cried out “RAVENCLAW!” for the entire hall to hear, Gilderoy had lost his chance at asking such a question.

_**June 20, 1975  
The Lockhart Family Home  
7:43 PM** _

_Gilderoy Lockhart has achieved:_

_Arithmancy - E-_

_Astronomy - A_

_Care of Magical Creatures - E_

_Charms - O_

_Defence Against The Dark Arts - A_

_Herbology - E_

_History of Magic - P_

_Potions - A_

_Transfiguration A_

_“I’m so sick of it!” Gilderoy complained to his parents as they read over his end of third-year marks. “Just because I’m the only Ravenclaw in my year that doesn’t spend all day in the library or get O’s in every stupid subject, they call me an idiot!”_

_“They’re children, Gilderoy,” Cassandra comforted. “They don’t think before they speak. Most of the people who feel the need to put others down aren’t truly happy with themselves. They see other people who are happy and they feel jealous so they try to put them down.”_

_“Marks are important,” Sigmund spoke up, “your grades in Transfiguration and Potions should probably be better, and your grade in History is rough, but I’m not too worried about that.” Cassandra glared at her husband for that comment, but if Sigmund noticed, he didn’t show it. “In saying that, there is more to life than grades, and if there isn’t more to Ravenclaw than grades and the library, then that house has gone off course. It’s about happiness, Gilderoy, like I’ve always told you. The same reason I made sure you grew up the way you did. As long as you’re happy, everything else will fall into place.”_

__**August 11, 1975  
The Lockhart Family Home  
10:24 AM** _ _

_The morning had been as mundane as Gilderoy had come to expect. Right up until the owl flew through the window. The same owl that always delivered his father’s edition of the paper._

_That was when the morning had become much less mundane._

_Sigmund lazily paid the creature, took hold of the newspaper, and actually gasped, paling drastically as his eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. Cassandra glanced over before having a similar reaction. Gilderoy had felt his heart rate quicken. He couldn’t remember a time where his parents had been so obviously flustered._

_“Mum, Dad, what is it?”_

_“Nothing,” Sigmund said sharply, trying to stuff the newspaper away as Gilderoy failed to get a subtle glimpse of the front page. “Gilderoy, could you put the dishes away, please?” Gilderoy frowned. They had a house-elf for that, but he didn’t dare argue. He had never seen nor heard his father like this and it was not a state he wanted to challenge him in._

_As he was doing the task set out for him, Sigmund and Cassandra quickly left the room and made their way up to Sigmund’s warded study. In Sigmund’s right hand was the offending newspaper — the one with the front-page headline and vivid imagery that had shaken the man to his very core._

_The image depicted a confident, raven-haired woman standing amid a ruined street. Even in the picture, the tendrils of smoke curling into the sky were obvious, and an odd symbol hung in the sky. A massive skull with a serpentine tongue. Sigmund could imagine the thing sticking out that tongue as a way of mocking the fallen, who were strewn all about the street._

_Seeing Emily amid such a terrible image had not shaken Sigmund nearly as much as the other dominating component of the image, one that was very obviously Emily’s handiwork. The street was painted with four large words, very clearly drawn in the blood of her victims, and they matched up perfectly with the headline of the article._

__I Am Lady Voldemort._ _

__**June 18, 1976  
The Hogwarts Express  
6:52 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy Lockhart has achieved:_

__Arithmancy - E_ _

__Astronomy - A_ _

__Care of Magical Creatures - E_ _

__Charms - O_ _

__Defence Against The Dark Arts - A+_ _

__Herbology - E_ _

__History of Magic - A-_ _

__Potions - A_ _

__Transfiguration - A+_ _

_This year had been so different at Hogwarts. With the emergence of Lady Voldemort and the reign of terror that was slowly beginning all across the country, Hogwarts had been tense and its population divided._

_Gilderoy had never been so grateful to be in Ravenclaw — a house mostly sheltered from the politics and conflicts that tore through the rest of the school like a bitter winter’s wind. Not only had the prejudice of some of the older students — particularly those in green and silver — reared its ugly head since the Dark Lady had announced her arrival, but there was a tangible amount of fear and wariness that lingered in the air anywhere one stepped within the massive castle._

_While all of this weighed on Gilderoy Lockhart as he peered down at his rather disappointing grades, he made a decision. He agreed with his father that happiness was important. Now, just like his father, he would be entering a time of war. And just like his father, he also wanted to be ready._

__**October 2, 1977  
The Library, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
9:34 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy Lockhart had never been so stressed in his entire life. As it turned out, actually putting effort into each and every one of his classes was a lot more difficult than he had expected. Particularly when considering he had only chosen to make that shift during his sixth year._

_The work leading up to the O.W.L. exams had been taxing, or at least, he had thought so at the time. It paled in comparison to what was expected of N.E.W.T. students, and Gilderoy was now truly suffering the repercussions of lackadaisical behaviour for his first five years of magical education. He was currently reading a book on Transfiguration and trying to cross-reference examples for an essay due that very next morning. One he had barely started, as the concepts were just so far over his head._

_“Knut for your thoughts, Lockhart?”_

_Gilderoy almost leapt from his seat at the unexpected voice behind him. As it was, he whirled around, ready to draw his wand. He wasn’t sure who he had expected to see. Perhaps Potter or one of his prats on some deluded mission to prank him. He hadn’t spent much time as their targets, but they had played a few small, annoying pranks on his hair that he hadn’t overly appreciated._

_It turned out the speaker was not James Potter. Nor was it Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, or any member of Gryffindor House._

_It was a quiet, dark-haired Ravenclaw in Gilderoy’s year. He didn’t think they had much spoken to each other beyond the exchanging of pleasantries here and there, but he knew the boy’s name, if not much else about him._

_“Croaker?”_

_“That is my name, yes.” An odd sort of silence stretched on between them. “Was something bothering you, Lockhart?”_

_“Transfiguration,” grumbled Gilderoy._

_Croaker quirked a brow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complaining about Transfiguration before.”_

_Gilderoy snorted. “Probably because, until this year, I didn’t care enough about Transfiguration to complain about it._

_Croaker seemed to contemplate that before nodding slowly. “You have seemed to improve in your classes this year,” he observed. “You’ve been in the common room far less, as well. You could usually be spotted in there on most nights — until this year. May I ask what’s changed?”_

_“The world,” Gilderoy deadpanned. “Merlin only knows how this war is going to go. It’s picking up out there. You-Know-Who is operating from the shadows, but she’s becoming bolder. Soon enough, it’ll be warfare. I don’t like the idea of being unprepared.”_

_Croaker eyed him speculatively. “Why do you call her You-Know-Who?”_

_Gilderoy blinked. “Come again?”_

_“Why do you call her You-Know-Who? It’s a ridiculous name that makes no sense. She gave herself an alias. Even if we don’t know who she is, it makes much more sense to just call her Voldemort.”_

_Gilderoy frowned. “I… haven’t really thought about it. I… just sort of went along with what the rest were doing.”_

_Croaker’s lips twitched. “That’s exactly your problem, Lockhart. You follow when you shouldn’t. You just sort of rode the wave the first five years at school and now you’re paying for it. You’re following trends that make you look foolish.” Croaker’s gaze was hard now. “You have potential. You know that, right? Ever since you’ve started putting actual effort into the classes, you’ve done well. It shouldn’t have taken you this long — Merlin knows you always had a knack for Charms — but you’re getting there. And you know why you’re getting there? Because you actually took the initiative to act and stopped blindly following others.”_

_“What are you saying?” asked Gilderoy._

_“I’m saying that you should start trusting yourself more and others less. It tends to lead to better results, in my own experiences.”_

_Gilderoy hesitated, but he couldn’t refute anything Saul Croaker had said. It was shockingly logical, now that Gilderoy was thinking about it. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”_

_Croaker nodded. “Please do.” Halfway to the library’s exit, he paused. “Oh, and Lockhart.” Gilderoy looked at him once more. “Start researching Manton’s law of Transfiguration. It will help you with that essay.”_

_Gilderoy let out an audible sigh as he clambered to his feet. He had a lot to think about, but first, he had a lot to write..._

__**December 16, 1977  
The Charms Classroom  
1:14 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy beamed down at the perfect score stamped on the front of their mid-year test in Charms. Beside him, Saul was grumbling about his own E._

_The two of them had formed a sort of tentative friendship since their encounter in the library. Gilderoy wouldn’t call them close, but they were certainly friends, of a sort._

_When Saul looked over at his score, the boy just scowled. “Don’t get too high on yourself,” he muttered. “Just remember the roles were reversed in Transfiguration.”_

_Gilderoy winced. Transfiguration was still giving him trouble, and it was something he continued to struggle with no matter how much effort he put in._

_“A trade, then,” he proposed. Saul looked confused, so Gilderoy went on. “I’ll help you improve in Charms, you help me improve in Transfiguration.”_

_The following pause was so long that Gilderoy thought for a moment he had bottled it. When Saul’s face split into a wide grin, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. “You learn well,” the boy complimented. “That, Gilderoy, is exactly what I meant by taking initiative.”_

_“We have a deal then?”_

_Croaker’s grin widened. “Yes, we have a deal.”_

__**June 16, 1978  
The Hogwarts Express  
6:03 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy stared down at his grades with a gleeful expression._

_Straight Os in both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had even scraped an O- in Transfiguration. With or without Saul’s help, he considered that fact nothing short of a miracle._

_Saul himself had achieved an O in Charms, something that elated him greatly._

_The two boys exchanged broad grins as the train began to pull into Platform Nine and Three Quarters._

_“Well, Mister Lockhart,” said Saul with a wink. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”_

_“It has indeed, Mister Croaker,” Gilderoy returned, trying not to crack up all the way. “I look forward to our future transactions.”_

__**April 14, 1979  
The Lockhart Family Home  
6:23 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy was home for the Easter holidays of what would be his final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since his first conversation with Saul about a year and a half earlier, his grades had risen drastically. He could tell that his parents had been suspicious when he had deflected all questions about his newfound motivation, but neither had pressed him. He had the distinct impression that his father wanted to do just that. He thought it likely his mother was stifling those instincts; something Gilderoy was immeasurably grateful for. He had been talking to them during dinner about the project he was partaking in for his Charms N.E.W.T. when it happened — his father went rigid as a board and he quickly shot to his feet, sending his chair toppling backwards and causing his silverware to fall onto the table with a clang._

_“Sigmund?” Cassandra asked concernedly. For perhaps the first time in Gilderoys life, Sigmund cut his wife off._

_“Gilderoy, to your room, now. Cassandra, go to the master bedroom. Neither of you is to so much as move until I come and give you the all-clear. Do you understand?”_

_Gilderoy tensed. He had never seen his father like this. The closest he had come was the day the paper had arrived that announced the Dark Lady’s arrival, but even then, his father had not acted so rashly._

_“Sigmund… is it…”_

_“We don’t have time. Cassandra, please.” She nodded, grabbing Gilderoy’s arm and dragging him away. His mother did not release it until he was in his room. Gilderoy did exactly as his father had told him. He did not move as much as a muscle... for the first few minutes, anyway._

__**Meanwhile, outside the Lockhart Family Home...** _ _

_Sigmund was gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. He was not scared, per se, but the feeling of dread and apprehension that had gripped his chest upon the triggering of the wards was something he had not experienced since that day at Katalysator all those years ago. The wards had triggered to confirm him not just of a presence, but of a breach — something that should not have been possible. The goblins had installed those wards personally. Barring their collapse, there should have been no way in hell for them to have been breached._

_He could think of only two people alive and free who may have been capable of such a feat, a thought that was confirmed when he stepped out of his front door and into his large, expansive yard. Standing about ten feet away from him, leaning leisurely up against a tree and wearing simple black robes was a tall, black-haired woman whom Sigmund had not seen for nearly thirty years._

_“Emily?” Sigmund said tightly, cautiously making his way towards her, his wand clasped tightly in his right hand._

_Her posture served as a stark juxtaposition to that of his own. She was leaning casually, with her arms folded nonchalantly in a ladylike fashion in front of her chest. The thought of drawing her wand hadn’t even seemed to occur to her. Sigmund knew her to be far too clever for that. Either she was wholly convinced things would not devolve, or she thought she could somehow best him — a former World Champion duelist — without a wand. The thought did not exactly put him at ease._

_“They don’t call me that anymore.” she chided him lightly but there was no heat to her words as she pushed off of the tree and took several steps towards him. “I would be quite upset if most people called me that, you know.”_

_“You don’t seem overly upset to me.”_

_Emily’s lips twitched. “For you, Sigmund, I shall make an exception.” She peered at him critically. “It has been so long; far too long. I had missed you. I would hug you, but you seem far too tense. I wouldn’t want to instigate anything that could devolve into something neither of us wants.”_

_“Are you threatening me, Emily?”_

_“Not at all. I like you far too much to threaten you like that unless the need arises, and threats have never much been my style.”_

_Sigmund’s eyes hardened. “You like me — the man whom you’ve written once in thirty years — too much to make threats?”_

_Emily shrugged. “I have been busy. When I first left England, I couldn’t write to you. I was under several vows of secrecy since I was still under the employ of Borgin and Burke’s. I was set to return to England three years after I first left, but during that time I had a falling out with Borgin, and we decided to end our professional relationship. To shorten a long, tiring story, I decided to extend my absence from England and travel far and wide.”_

_“And you’ve kept busy since returning,” Sigmund said neutrally._

_Emily sighed. “And we have reached the point of possible contention so early into our dealings. I had hoped to save such points for later when we would hopefully be more reacquainted.”_

_“I was raised to not dodge around the point,” Sigmund retorted. “That got you in quite a lot of trouble, especially when you constantly spent time around the Warlord of Warsaw.”_

_He was not revealing anything overly private. The story of his relationship with Shevchenko had been shared with the media before his duel with the man nearly twenty years ago._

_Emily’s eyes darkened. “I was rather disturbed to read of your relationship with him.”_

_Sigmund quirked an eyebrow. “Really, Emily? You must have desensitized a great deal in the past twenty years.”_

_“I do not harm children.” Emily’s voice was sharp and Sigmund had the odd impression he had touched a nerve. “I would not dare consider it unless I thought it a life or death situation.”_

_“I don’t know how to respond to that,” Sigmund answered. “It seems a rather noble place to draw the line compared to most everything else you’ve done.”_

_“You think I am a monster.” It was not a question._

_“Not exactly. I don’t know what to think.” He peered at her critically. “Is it safe to say Shevchenko’s death wasn’t… coincidental?”_

_There was no note of accusation in Sigmund’s voice. He’d have killed the man in their duel if he could have gotten away with it. Hell, he had tried — had done everything within the rules to do so — but the bastard was tough, if nothing else._

_“The assumption is safe, yes. He approached me some time ago and I would have been a fool to turn down his service.” Her eyes darkened. “That doesn’t mean I trusted him, nor does it mean I could stomach him. He was sent out on… risky operations, and he never made it out of one of them.” Emily peered curiously at the boy she had saved more than thirty years earlier. “Do you think less of me for that?”_

_“No. That bastard should have died years ago. I’m… impressed by the feat, to be honest. He was a fierce opponent, and even though I know that duel left his mobility in question, I can’t imagine he went out easily.”_

_“I imagine not. Scrimgeour did it; a young and talented auror, that one. He took quite a bit of damage in the duel, but his ambush was masterful, from what I was told.” She spoke with no emotion whatsoever. “If my goals had been achieved, I would have disposed of him personally.”_

_“That’s… a very casual way to speak of defeating a man like Shevchenko.”_

_“In the most respectful manner possible, I am not a duellist. You were ― are ― still incredible within your field, but to compare yourself to me in terms of magical ability is rather presumptuous of you.”_

_“I duelled the man and I knew Shevchenko better than probably anybody alive.” He was actually pretty sure Giaus knew him better than he did, but that was better left unsaid, and the point stood despite the fact._

_“You are misunderstanding me. I am not discrediting Shevchenko. I am saying that any who would pose a challenge to a World Champion duellist would not be much of a problem for a true mage, let alone a centennial sorcerer.”_

_“I’m not sure of the difference. I have heard legendary duellists referred to as mages.”_

_“Yes, and such a statement is an improper use of the term and an insult to those who truly fit its meaning. A mage is a person capable of magic that puts them heads and shoulders above the rest of society. With no disrespect meant, no duellist would have a hope of competing. That is saying nothing of centennials.” When she saw Sigmund was obviously still confused, she elaborated, “A centennial sorcerer is a witch or wizard whose talent transcended the norms. They are beings who defined the century in which they were born.”_

_“Is that so?” Sigmund asked. If that wasn’t a threat, it was a very emphatic hint._

_“Oh yes, I think you would agree with me if you truly understood. For example,” Emily turned towards the pile of logs that sat near the Lockhart family’s rather large fireplace._

_She held out her hand, palm up and the wood rose into the air. With one quick glance back towards Sigmund, she closed her hand and, just like that, the wood was obliterated before his very eyes. It happened so fast he didn’t know how she had done it._

_“There was no spell,” he observed, carefully._

_“Spells are needless for masters of magic. Intent is the only thing that matters, Sigmund. Intent, power, and creativity. Incantations are simply optional. A way to guide the intent of one’s magic.”_

_“You’ve made your point, Emily, you can stop posturing. Why have you come here? Why have you gone to the trouble of breaching my wards?”_

_Emily looked him over. “You’re smarter than that, Sigmund. I think you know why I have come.”_

_“I think so as well, but I want to hear it from you.”_

_Emily paused for a moment before a small smile played on her lips. “How very sensible of you to keep a sort of high ground. Very well, as I am sure you well know, I have come as a recruiter.” Her eyes shone. “Years ago, you asked me whether or not I could teach you how to duel. Now is your opportunity. I will teach you everything you could possibly wish to know in regards to magic. In return, I simply ask for loyalty.”_

_Sigmund pursed his lips. “I think both of us know what I think of your actions, Emily.”_

_“Do you not think I have tried other avenues? Magical Britain is corrupt. It is polluted to its very core. We must tear the structure down brick by brick and build it anew. We must cleanse the sins of the past. We must shape Magical Britain in a new, brighter image. Surely you see the flaws? Surely you see the benefit in a revolution?”_

_“The country is terribly flawed, but I don’t see the benefit in terrorist attacks led by blood supremacists.”_

_She shrugged. “Blood supremacy is a useful lure to draw in support. I care not for the purity of one’s blood, I care about prowess and magic. I tend to abide by a quote you may know of. Blood matters, but ability matters more.”_

_Sigmund’s jaw tightened. “Quoting Gellert Grindelwald will not ingratiate me to your cause.”_

_“But you understand the message? Come, Sigmund, you were always sensible. Surely you see what is really going on? Without pureblood support, my campaign crumbles. When I have seized control, I can pull aside the facade of bigotry and enact my true plans.”_

_“What are your true plans?”_

_“I’m sorry, Sigmund. I need a vow of loyalty to divulge anything of that manner.”_

_“And what of your actions, Emily? Even if your intent is sound, what of your methods? Massacres? Terrorism? I can understand the initial message, even if I disapprove of it, but you’ve slaughtered so many.”_

_“Fear is a powerful catalyst for change. Magical Britain is not going to roll over and submit. It must be seized and then controlled, and there are those outside the Ministry who have always wished to oppose me. They have complicated matters, I must admit.”_

_“Dumbledore, you mean?”_

_She smiled bitterly. “Always Dumbledore. If you wish to blame any for my actions, blame him.” At the look of incredulity on Sigmund’s face, Emily waved her hand dismissively. “Come now. Surely you don’t believe a large scale revolution was my initial plan? It would have been so much different had this society not been foolish enough to deal one player so many cards.”_

_Sigmund didn’t entirely understand what she meant, but he was not going to show her that. “You fear him?”_

_She snorted. “I fear no one,” she answered defiantly. “It is he who has stayed securely protected in his tower, just as he did when Gellert Grindelwald ran roughshod over Europe.”_

_“But you haven’t attacked Hogwarts?”_

_“I have no plans to touch Hogwarts for my own, selfish reasons. To succinctly answer your question, the only thing I fear about Albus Dumbledore is the power he may have as a martyr. I do not wish to make one of him, so no, I will not actively seek a confrontation. Not until I know that he is truly the final obstacle.”_

_Sigmund sighed. “I can’t drag my family into a war. I cannot kill, I cannot help to build an empire. I will not aid a dark lady, not when the last dark lord I encountered marred my life more permanently than any single event could have done.”_

_There was a moment of unbelievable tension before Emily spoke. “I thought as much, but I hoped you would see reason. It is safe to say that you will never reconsider then?”_

_Sigmund met her dark blue eyes without defiance, but with a very obvious measure of finality. “It is.”_

_Emily truly looked pained, as if his words had struck her. “I’m sorry, Sigmund. You could have been an incredible addition to an incredible world. It is unfortunate that your past experiences have blinded you, but something I should have foreseen.” She dipped her head. “I suppose we have nothing left to discuss?”_

_Sigmund’s hand gripped his wand very tightly. “No,” he said, “we don’t.”_

_Emily nodded and, without warning, she melted into what appeared to be a cloud of smoke and drifted back out of the wards, flying away from the Lockhart family home just as easily as she had entered. Sigmund sighed, closed his eyes, and allowed himself an unguarded moment of sadness and mourning. He had lost the girl he had once idolized and he had a terrible feeling that this would not be the last time they would meet._

_What had she said? She wouldn’t make threats without reason? If she was half as pragmatic as he suspected, potentially alienating a former World Champion duellist was a pretty good reason..._

_The feeling was mirrored by a disillusioned Gilderoy Lockhart, who loomed ten feet away from his father with a terror-struck expression plastered upon his invisible face._

__**July 4, 1979  
The Lockhart Family Home  
1:24 AM** _ _

_Gilderoy was shaken awake by a tremendous, earth-shaking sound that quite literally caused the house to rock and shake. At once, the recent Hogwarts graduate leapt to his feet and took a firm hold on his wand. He looked out his bedroom window, trying in vain to locate the source of the massive explosion of sound that had woken him. He could see only the full moon and the land cast beneath it, illuminated by its immeasurably powerful light._

_Groggily, Gilderoy pondered what to do next. Before he could come to a solution, the door to his room swung open and his mother hurriedly stepped inside._

_“Gilderoy, come here now! The floo, hurry!”_

_Gilderoy didn’t understand what his mother was trying to say, but her frantic behaviour was enough for him to follow her out of his room, ignoring the fact that he was wearing no more than a nightgown. When he entered the room with the floo connection, he was greeted with the near-hysterical visage of his mother and his stone-faced father._

_“Mum, Dad, what’s going on?”_

_“They’ve come,” Sigmund said simply, looking up towards his only son. “The Death Eaters and I suspect their leader as well.”_

_Gilderoy’s heart skipped a beat. “D-D-Death Eaters? Does this have anything to do with the conversation you had with the ― with Voldemort?”_

_Sigmund froze, his posture straightening as he gazed towards his only son. “You knew?”_

_“I was disillusioned,” admitted Gilderoy with no small bit of sheepishness._

_Sigmund sighed. “It seems I have failed,” he said sadly. “I wanted to raise you away from the need to be secretive and crafty. It’s not that I didn’t want you to succeed, but I wanted you to be happy above all else. I was never happy until you were born and when you live half of your life angry, frustrated and, at times, even depressed, it is the last thing you wish upon your child.” He stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on Gilderoy’s shoulder. “You have improved greatly. I wish you hadn’t, only because I wish it hadn’t been needed, but just know that, whatever happens, I am more proud of you than I could ever say. Not only for succeeding, but for doing it in spite of my failures.”_

_“Your-your failures?”_

_“Yes, Gilderoy, my failures. I should have learned a long time ago that happiness means different things for different people. I wanted to grow up innocent and free; I wanted that more than anything. What I never realized — not until your marks started skyrocketing — was that the only reason that was something I had always wanted was that it was something I had never had. You had that, but what you never had was the opportunity to be great and it was all because of me.” There was a great deal of obvious bitterness in Sigmund’s voice. “I was selfish, Gilderoy, I was so incredibly selfish. I projected myself onto you, just as Igor Shevchenko once did to me.” Gilderoy reared back at the name as if he had been struck. He knew that name._

_“Sh-Sh-Shevchenko?”_

_“Yes, the one you are thinking of. When this is all over, go to Gringotts; there will be a will and memories.”_

_“Sigmund,” Cassandra stuttered out, “what is this foolishness? We’re going to be okay, we’re going to—”_

_“No, Cassandra, we’re not. The floo and apparition are ineffective and the wards will collapse any second. There is no way in hell all three of us are making it out of this, but I will do my goddamn best to make sure that the two of you manage it.”_

_“Dad?” Gilderoy asked with emotion, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. “You can’t just give up! We can do this!”_

_Another explosion rocked the house and Sigmund winced as if the blow had physically pained him. “No, Gilderoy, we cannot. I watched Voldemort duel Gellert Grindelwald to a near stalemate at the age of eighteen. Now, we couldn’t beat her three-on-one. If your name is not Albus Dumbledore, you have no hope against Emily Riddle. You cannot win, merely survive. You two are going to survive. It’s me she wants; I’ll hold her off as long as I have to.” He turned to his son. “Gilderoy, you are brilliant with Charms. Cast the disillusionment over yourself and your mother. When the wards fall, I will meet Emily out in the yard and the two of you will get out.”_

_“I won’t leave you!” Cassandra protested vehemently. “I won’t let you fight her alone!”_

_“Cassandra, please. Help Gilderoy get out. If you fight with me, the only thing that will change is that both of us will die. I would prefer Gilderoy to keep his mother, and I love you far too much to let you die so pointlessly.”_

_When he saw the tears leaking from his son’s and wife’s eyes, he sighed. Stepping forward, Sigmund Lockhart wrapped both his wife and son in a hug filled with unspoken tearful goodbyes and rampaging emotions._

_“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he told them. “I won’t lie to you; I won’t sugarcoat anything.” For the first time, his voice broke, but he gained back a modicum of control quickly enough. “I was young when it happened. My parents never explained what was going on… I would have killed to say goodbye.” Before he could continue, the largest explosion yet shook the house and Sigmund staggered as a blinding flash of magic lit up the world around the property._

_“And so it begins,” he declared grimly. Gripping his wand and blasting the front door off its hinges without warning. Gilderoy, trying his utmost best to control his sobbing, shakily made to cast the charm at his mother. Before he could, his father was sent flying backwards as a large, muscular creature sailed into the room. Gilderoy recognized it as a werewolf and as it reared to lunge at his father — whom it had knocked down by surprise — Gilderoy did the only thing he could think to do._

_With a flick of his wand, he sent a Stunner towards the creature, but it dodged easily and lunged at him. Gilderoy sidestepped at the last second, displaying reflexes he hadn’t known he possessed and allowed the fully-transformed werewolf to crash headfirst through the wall. More of the beasts were lumbering towards the doorway and he could do nothing but turn to his mother and cast the disillusionment charm over her before turning to the door with his wand raised. His father was gone — he had evidently gone to confront the Dark Lady personally once he had regained his footing._

_“Mum, go!”_

_It was obvious she would argue, so Gilderoy did the only thing he could. He flicked his wand towards the back door, causing it to fly open before he cast a low-level Banishing Hex towards his mother — sending her flying out the backdoor before turning to the werewolves. He knew he would die fighting them, so he was going to do the one thing he thought himself capable of: get the creatures as far away from his mother as he could. Without thinking, he lunged through the werewolf-shaped hole in the wall and just like that, pandemonium broke out at the home of the Lockhart family._

_It didn’t take Sigmund long to find his target._

_She was standing just past the ward line, strolling forward casually as she twirled her wand between her long, pale fingers. Her eyes found him long before he drew near, but she didn’t attack. She just let him approach, right until they were in range to fire spells._

_“You still won’t reconsider?” Emily truly sounded hopeful and full of regret, but both of them knew how he would answer. He shook his head, but she tried one more time. “I can’t leave loose ends, Sigmund, but I don’t want to hurt you. I never have and I never will. Please don’t force me to do so.”_

_“We both knew it would come to this the second you stepped foot on my property.”_

_“I knew very little of you. It had been years since we had spoken. Was it so wrong for me to hope for the best?”_

_“The best? Is that what you call it, Emily? While we’re on the topic, care to share your plans now? I doubt your idea is to let me go, now that I’ve opposed you, so it would hardly matter, wouldn’t it? Who knows, maybe I would even have some sort of last-second epiphany and change my stance.”_

_“You wouldn’t,” she said sadly. “I know it as clearly as you do. Your mind is a relatively open book, even with the limited Occlumency you know. I’m sorry it’s come to this, Sigmund. If you don’t force my hand, I’ll make it quick and painless.”_

_“I spent years as a prisoner of war, Emily. If you think I’m going to roll over, you’re delusional.”_

_Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Sigmund never gave her the chance. A string of spells flew from his wand, but none of them touched her. She raised a transparent shield that absorbed all of them just as she waved her wand nonchalantly. All around the yard, trees animated themselves. Their branches seamlessly morphed into weapons and they contorted into feral-looking creatures with obviously murderous intent._

_Sigmund sent out a wave of fire just as he batted away Emily’s next curse, but the monstrosities walked straight through the fire. Blasting Curses had no better effect, and Sigmund realized exactly what Emily had meant._

_She had very casually cast an enchantment capable of standing against a potent offence._

_His jaw tightened as he found himself pushed onto the defensive. Her casting speed was unbelievable and every single one of her spells felt like a clubbing blow as they slammed into his defences. She made Shevehcenko seem tame by comparison, and he knew this duel wouldn’t last long. Especially not if the oncoming constructs, formerly trees, had their way._

_Out of pure desperation, Sigmund resorted to something he hoped would never be necessary. It was something he had researched after he’d seen Emily herself use it at Katalysator, but it wasn’t something he had ever cast before. He wasn’t even entirely sure he could cast it, but there was no time like the present to find out…_

_“FIENDFYRE!”_

_He felt strain, unlike anything he had ever experienced as the air seemed to bend, tearing at the seams and letting something unnatural and unearthly pour into their world. His dark-red flames twisted and contorted as they tried to break free of his control. It wasn’t even that conjuring them was taxing, even though doing so absolutely was. It was the fact that these flames didn’t want to submit to anyone. They fought ruthlessly against Sigmund’s control. He was sure Emily could have killed him in the time it took for him to master the control of his spell and direct it towards her, but she seemed morbidly curious._

_Again, not a good sign._

_Finally, his creation destroyed Riddle’s. Despite her enchantments, the monstrosities were immediately incinerated and the flames seemed to taunt her as they consumed her creation, creeping sadistically towards her, cackling all the way as they did so._

_Emily actually took the time to raise a challenging eyebrow before she flicked her own wand and summoned her own Fiendfyre without so much as a word. If not for the adrenaline of battle, Sigmund would have gaped. Based on what he had read all those years ago, conjuring Fiendfyre wordlessly wasn’t supposed to be possible._

_The flaming snake and tiger collided. His beast roared as the snake coiled around it. Sigmund watched in complete horror as his fire seemed to become absorbed into hers at the same moment he felt control of the spell wrenched forcefully away from him._

_The fire surged towards him and he knew at once he would die. Fighting for control of the fire had been too taxing for him to just conjure more. Even if he did, Emily’s had overwhelmed him so easily the first time that it likely meant he would only be giving her more fire. The only other spell he knew to be capable of countering Fiendfyre was the one Grindelwald had used at Katalysator. While he remembered the incantation, he had no idea how to actually cast the spell._

_But the fire didn’t consume him._

_Right before it would have, it dissipated following a slash of Emily’s wand. Instead of being mercilessly burnt alive, a very surprised Sigmund — choking, spluttering and unready to defend himself — felt a spell strike him in the chest and the next thing he felt was complete and total weightlessness._

_Gilderoy could barely remember the blur of events that were the next number of minutes of his life. The werewolves pursued him and he could do nothing but defend. He had tried to fight for all of ten seconds before realizing that idea was going to get him turned or killed very, very quickly. Any injury he managed to inflict on the creatures healed almost instantaneously and he suddenly gained a new appreciation for the magical healing abilities that werewolves possessed._

_Instead of fighting them, Gilderoy had resorted to Banishing Hexes and conjurations, anything to slow them down as slowly — ever so slowly — he inched his way toward the property line. Once outside of it, he knew apparition would be possible once more. He just needed to get out of the range of the magic emanating from the serpentine skull that hovered far above them._

_He thought for a split-second that he was going to make it — thought for sure he would survive — when he heard it. A terrified, piercing scream tore through the night and even the werewolves pursuing him paused. Gilderoy froze for a heartbeat, but then his body's autopilot kicked in to such a degree that he would not have thought it possible and, suddenly, he was running straight through the werewolf pack. Whether it was luck or adrenaline, none of them could touch him as he tore through the night back towards the sound of the screaming, one word escaping his lips and piercing the night just as much as the screaming of the woman whom he could not let die._

__“MUM!!”_ _

_By the time he reached the side of the house, he realized that the werewolves behind him were following at a slower pace. That’s how he knew he was walking into an ambush but in spite of all of that, he could not will himself to care. All of his thoughts, all of his emotions, even the world around him seemed to pause as he rounded the corner and allowed his eyes to rest on the most terrifying sight he had ever seen in his life._

_There was a body lying prone on the ground and crouching on top of it was a well-muscled creature with matted fur covering much of its body. Its head was buried in the side of the body. She no longer screamed, but she still struggled weakly. That was until she didn’t, and the werewolf — one by the name of Fenrir Greyback — raised his head from the large wound in the woman’s side._

_Gilderoy Lockhart had the misfortune of seeing the scene in front of him with perfect clarity. They were directly under the moon’s ethereal spotlight, and the horrific scene before him was lit in a bright, yet ghostly light, only adding to its morbid horror._

_His mother’s blood streamed down the creature’s chin like a gory waterfall. Or, to use a more morbidly ironic analogy, like a child who had spilled their Kool-Aid. The only difference was that kool-aid didn’t possess a dank, metallic scent — one that made Gilderoy want to vomit. The smell emitted from the openly-exposed organs of his mother’s body, now on full display after Greyback had quite literally torn a hole in her side as if the skin, muscle, bone and tissue had been little more than paper._

_The worst part was the creature’s smug smile as he slowly and deliberately licked his lips, savouring the taste of Cassandra’s blood right in front of her only son. Gilderoy had been so certain that all of the werewolves had followed him. He had been so certain that his mother was safe, but he had forgotten about the one who had thrown itself through the very wall which he himself had used to escape._

_Gilderoy Lockhart knew with one hundred percent certainty that he was going to die, but at that point, he was far, far beyond caring. He raised his wand and let out an animalistic cry of loss, agony and blood lust._

_Before he could cast his spell, there was a loud crash as a body flew straight through the back wall of the property. Gilderoy froze, along with all of the werewolves, to peer down at the prone form of a man, who coughed up blood as he tried and failed to push himself to his feet. The werewolves jeered as a tall, slim figure crept towards the fallen man, glancing from the man to Gilderoy and holding up her hand as one of the werewolves made to lunge at him from behind. Gilderoy was too transfixed on the broken form of his father to notice._

_“Do not touch him,” the figure instructed firmly and the werewolf paused. “I will not see him hurt. He is innocent, blameless and I do not kill children.”_

_There was a tiny, defiant part of Gilderoy that just wanted to yell at anything and claim that he was not a child, but somehow, he didn’t think she was referring to age._

_“D-d-dad?” He would have stepped forward, but werewolves were blocking his path._

_The man tried to answer, but instead of words, another clump of blood simply drizzled out of his mouth. Gilderoy swayed where he stood as the loss of everything weighed so heavily upon him. Then, movement caught his attention, and the only possible way the night could become any more traumatizing for the eighteen-year-old Lockhart heir came to pass as slowly, deliberately, the form of his mother rose and snarled hatefully at him with a malevolent, amber-eyed gaze. She was not dead, as Gilderoy had suspected. She was now just another member of a murderous pack of inhuman monsters. One whose horrid wounds were somehow knitting themselves shut._

_Gilderoy would never underestimate the power of werewolves again._

_“Control her, Greyback!” Voldemort snapped, and Fenrir obediently interposed himself between the soon-to-be sole member of the Lockhart family and the monster that was once his mother. Then Gilderoy’s broken gaze met that of the Dark Lady and he saw… sadness._

_“This should not have happened,” she told him, her voice soft. “This was my fault — completely my fault. If I would have spoken to your father years ago or if I had simply kept my mouth shut during our last meeting, we would not be here.” She actually looked remorseful, and Gilderoy wondered if that was why she hadn’t technically struck the death blow — at least not yet. “I cared too much for him. I told him things I could not. If what I had said got out… if those who followed me had even an inkling of what was truly to come…” She shook her head, seeming to clear it with the motion._

_“Bury your father,” she commanded, “he was a good man, and he deserves at least that.”_

_And that was it. Much like she had done the last time she had met Sigmund, Emily Riddle melted into smoke. This time, however, the smoke wrapped around the werewolves as well and they all vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a sobbing, broken Gilderoy Lockhart, who slumped to his knees as neither his brain nor his body could deal with the trauma of the night’s events any longer._

__**July 10, 1979  
Gringotts, Diagon Alley  
10:43 AM** _ _

_Gilderoy emerged from the pensieve the goblins had provided to watch the memories passed to him through the will of his father with tears shining in his bright blue eyes. He had known that his father’s childhood had been difficult, yet never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the true scale. Now Sigmund’s desire for Gilderoy to be happy above all else made sense to him. The irony was not lost on him that after losing both of his parents in a similar fashion to his father, it was Gilderoy’s turn to improve. Revenge was on Gilderoy’s mind and he had a long, painstaking road to get there._

_There were other things, too, but things he couldn’t spend too much time focusing on._

_His father’s relationship with Riddle baffled him, probably above all other things he had seen. She seemed so different after coming back all those years later. It was as if she had become a different person altogether. The liking for his father had obviously remained until the man’s end, but she had seemed somehow more detached. Whatever she had done on her journeys had changed her. Or perhaps it could have been other things._

_Again, he couldn’t be sure and it didn’t really matter._

_The bottom line was that the Riddle who had returned to England had been far less human than the one who had left it years earlier. It had led her to do despicable things. Despicable things that Gilderoy Lockhart wanted her to pay for._

_Her and the pack of bloodthirsty mutts who she had tamed._

_They would get it too… in the most painful way imaginable._

_‘I’ll be happy, Father,’ he thought resolutely. ‘But first, I’m going to do what you did; take revenge.’_

__**July 14, 1979  
The Lockhart Family Home  
4:23 PM** _ _

_The day was bright, seeming to serve as a complete mockery to Gilderoy, who could feel nothing but sadness._

_It had been the day of his father’s funeral. The world should have been bland and bleak. There was nothing worth celebrating that day, for the loss he had suffered was monumental. Those were his thoughts, at least. The sun — which had been shining in full force all day — clearly had other ideas._

_It still sat high in the sky by the time most of the guests had left. Sigmund’s body, as declared in his will, was set to rest on a hill near the outskirts of the Lockhart’s property, directly under a tree — the same tree that had stood as a central part of his wedding years earlier._

_Gilderoy thought about all of this and so much more as he stared down at his father’s grave. The lone figure lurking nearby — as well as anyone else if they were in a similar position — had no trouble noticing the vacant, dead look in Gilderoy’s eyes._

_“Your father was a great man.” Gilderoy almost jumped out of his skin. The last person he had spoken with had been Saul, but his oldest and truest friend had left some time ago._

_He recognized this new figure at once upon turning around. He was much older than he had appeared in Sigmund’s memories, but it was undoubtedly Giaus. Even if his hair had thinned and lightened a bit over time, and even if he had more wrinkles than he had while commanding Katalysator._

_“You recognize me?”_

_Gilderoy nodded meekly. “My father… I saw his memories earlier this week.”_

_“Ah, yes. Your father didn’t have an easy life, but it made him a far better man than most could ever dream of being.” Gilderoy nodded despondently and Giaus eyed him. “He wouldn’t want this, you know.”_

_“Want what?” asked Gilderoy defensively._

_“He wouldn’t have wanted his only son to fold in on himself the moment he was separated from him.”_

_Gilderoy bristled. “That’s not—”_

_“It’s exactly what you are doing,” Giaus cut him off sharply. When he saw Gilderoy wince, he sighed heavily. “If you truly have seen your father’s memories, you likely know a great deal about me. Given what I am sure you know, is there any better than I at spotting such things? Do you have any idea how many faces I saw that vacant expression on for the six years during which Katalysator was operational?”_

_“They really did just kill the parents then?”_

_“Almost always,” answered Giaus. “Killing is far easier than separating, on most occasions, and Grindelwald was nothing if not pragmatic.” There was a long pause. “Your father hated him for it. I’m not sure he even realized it himself, but it was true. The way he looked at Shevchenko was truly something to fear whilst the monster’s back was turned. I was one of the reinforcements to arrive at Katalysator after leaving to help organize the strike. I saw the way he looked at Grindelwald and it was that same look.”_

_“What’s your point?” asked Lockhart. “I’m sorry if this isn’t quite coming off right, but my patience is very thin.”_

_“It is perfectly understandable. My point is this, Gilderoy Lockhart. Your father lost his parents at the age of six. He had miserable days following their demise and it never truly left his mind. One thing it never did though was break him. It made him a better man. It gave him courage that most men can only dream of. It gave him a heart of gold, and beyond all else, it gave him a purpose._

_“My point, child, is that not all horrible things in one’s life must drag one down a steep and never-ending slope. Think about what it is you want in this life and use all of this as fuel. Do it not only for your father’s memory but for what he would have wanted you to achieve.” He eyed Sigmund very closely. “And if it is revenge you seek, do so with caution. Beyond all else, your father would not wish to see you join him.”_

_Gilderoy tried to answer but his throat was constricted. The best he could do before Giaus quietly swept away was a gracious look that he could only hope Giaus interpreted correctly. Whether he did or not, Gilderoy would never know. Giaus’s expression didn’t change as he left the top of the hill, staying only long enough to bend his head forward while standing in front of the grave as if in prayer._

__**November 1, 1981  
A Hotel Room in Rome  
8:33 AM** _ _

__****_****_

_**_YOU-KNOW-WHO DESTROYED BY CHARLUS POTTER!  
THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED IS BORN!  
By Barbabus Cuffe_ ** _

_As Gilderoy’s deep blue eyes roamed disbelievingly over the article that sat in front of him, those same eyes widened almost comically while simultaneously taking on the gleam of something akin to victory. That made his task much, much easier._

_For more than two years, Gilderoy Lockhart had travelled the world in an effort to learn magic. Not just learn it, but understand it — wield it. He had started in Egypt, where he had spent half a year, before transitioning to Greece, where he had spent nearly a year. Now he was in Rome, and he would continue to travel, grow, and learn until he was ready to take revenge._

_He was conflicted overall, but there was at least a degree of relief that the Dark Lady was now out of the way. He could train, learn and travel all he wanted, but he was unsure if he would ever be able to match up to her immense power. Not that there wasn’t a small part of him that had so desperately wanted to be the one to deal the killing blow, but it was much more complicated than that. He also couldn’t help but think of that teenage girl who had helped his father. The one who had seemed so much different than the Emily Riddle who had murdered the same man she had previously saved all those years later._

_It also made his objective much clearer._

_With Riddle out of the picture, it was the werewolves who had his attention. In particular, the monster known as Fenrir Greyback. The one who had turned his mother and the one he was determined to see dead at his hand. It, along with educating himself about the wonders of magic, was his top priority in life._

_And by Merlin, he would resort to the depths of hell if he needed to. He would resort to the vaguely mentioned Chaos Magic he had read up on whilst scanning ancient, highly-illegal tomes in Ancient Greece. He would do anything to bring Greyback down, and there was nothing he wouldn’t give up to do it._

__**January 28, 1986  
Somewhere, in a Treacherous, European Mountain Range  
1:13 AM** _ _

_Gilderoy’s first major attempt at tracking and killing Fenrir Greyback was going just swimmingly._

_That was true, at least, if swimmingly meant being massively misled, becoming lost somewhere in a freezing mountain range, and spending most of the day fighting off monsters of all varieties._

_It was a troll that was pursuing him at the moment. It would have been far less troubling earlier in the day, but he had exhausted himself combatting the numerous other beasts that had tried their best to take his life away. He was frozen, aching, and exhausted, and the troll just kept coming._

_As he avoided a boulder heavier than he was that had been thrown forcefully at his head, Gilderoy nearly lost his footing. Seeing how he was standing with his back to the edge of a very high cliff, that would have been a fatal error. As it was, he couldn’t dodge. He was boxed in and he needed to do something. Something that would at least give him a moment to strike a seminal blow, but something that wasn’t overly taxing._

_The problem was that most things able to harm a troll were quite taxing. They were highly resistant to magic and Gilderoy wouldn’t have time to use the environment to his advantage unless he dazed the troll or something similar._

_Dazed it… yes, that was it! He didn’t need to hurt it, only to daze it._

_“Tonitrualis!”_

_It was a spell he had read up whilst in Rome. One the Romans had apparently employed ages ago on the battlefield when they were locked in large-scale conflicts that obviously weren’t going to go their way. A last resort, of sorts. A distraction._

_A horrible, high-pitched sound erupted from Gilderoy’s wand, and it did so with the impact and decibel levels one might expect from a nuclear warhead. Thank Merlin, he had been fortunate enough to learn a spell in tandem that blocked this one’s effects, else he would have deafened himself, possibly for life, as the sound echoed horribly in these mountainous regions._

_The troll let out a horrible cry as it fell to its knees. That was all the opening Lockhart needed to levitate the very bolder the troll had thrown at him seconds earlier and use it to cave the creature’s skull in._

_It was a fortunate end to a miserable day, but Gilderoy had many more ahead of him, even if he didn’t yet know it._

__**February 6, 1987  
Somewhere in a Treacherous, European Mountain Range  
11:33 PM** _ _

_Gilderoy’s triumphant war cry echoed around the vast mountains. The probability that he had just alerted every magical creature within a hundred miles to his location was disturbingly high, but he didn’t much care._

_For the last year, he had been stuck in these damn mountains. Every time he thought he had found a way out, his path had been impeded by something. For most of the year, he had been stalked by packs of yetis. It had been extremely annoying, all things considered. Especially because they were very rare creatures. While this had made them mildly fascinating at first, it also meant there was very little written about them in terms of their weakness._

_So, after nearly a year on the run, Gilderoy had finally managed to get rid of them… by sending them all toppling off a cliff overlooking a jagged number of rocks maybe thirty metres or so feet below._

_Not the most elegant way of dealing with monsters, but he didn’t much care._

_Now if he could only get out of these damned mountains._

_Seriously, he could write a book about this never-ending adventure, by this point…_

__**September 16, 1989  
The Wagga Wagga District, Australia  
9:24 PM** _ _

_The night was hot and the air was dry. Really, that much should have been a given in the blistering nation of Australia, but the conditions were ideal for what Gilderoy Lockhart had in mind for tonight. Not that it would matter. His plan, if executed correctly, seemed almost foolproof._

_Gilderoy had arrived back home on English soil in the summer of 1987 for the first time in nearly eight years. Ever since that day, he had spent every passing moment tracking down Fenrir Greyback and his pack of rabid mutts. There had been one instance when he had come very close. He had burnt down a larger amount of forestry, hoping to catch the mutts in the fire. He had been partially successful, but a number of them had gotten away. The ones that had received anything less than immediately fatal burns had healed up just fine, so Gilderoy had been back to square one._

_But he had learned from that mistake._

_As he had from his number of other, smaller mistakes. He had been given many leads, but most of them had been busts. Some had even been intentional setups or ambushes, but he had learned over the past two years what to look for when examining leads._

_He was sure this one had merit._

_He had been in Australia for nearly two months following Greyback’s pack, but tonight was the night._

_As made evident by the low light not far ahead, emanating from a nearby clearing. They had obviously lit a fire, and it was what would lead Gilderoy directly to them. A part of him wished their fire had caught so much as a leaf. In the dry climate, it would have set the entire clearing ablaze in seconds._

_But part of him was happy that hadn’t happened._

_He wanted to be the one to do it. He wanted to be the one to take revenge._

_And so he stepped out into the clearing._

_For Gilderoy Lockhart, it was merely business._

_With a flourish of his wand, he allowed the Disillusionment Charm to fall, and the werewolves' ears all seemed to perk up. He also removed the Silencing Charm on his shoes. He stood there, head held high, proudly and defiantly staring down the rabid pack of dogs he was about to put down._

_It was the night of the full moon, and the werewolves were enraged. They had likely lit the fire before sunset. Probably, they had trained their subconscious to stay near it, likely because they knew they were being hunted._

_The werewolves were fully transformed, and they picked up on his presence immediately._

_The night did not matter — none of it mattered. This was only ever going to end one way, and it didn’t matter whether the beasts were transformed or not. As the monsters began to rise and snarl, one particular werewolf rushed forward. Gilderoy didn’t need to examine the monster for long to know he was who he had come for. After all, he had studied Fenrir Greyback rather extensively and he had seen his photograph in several U.K publications._

_Even while deranged, Greyback‘s evil grin sent shivers down Gilderoy’s spine as he crudely gestured for several of his compatriots to move something. Gilderoy had to hold back vomit when a bag was overturned and small ripped up pieces of what was unmistakably a human corpse were dumped on the forest floor between Gilderoy and Greyback._

_The body was clearly fresh, as blood slowly tainted the beautiful fall leaves. The oranges and yellows darkened to a vivid red colour that only looked all the more sinister in the light of the full moon._

_Gilderoy had no further questions. He knew it was his mother’s body. They had likely killed her minutes before the transformation, just in case it was tonight he found them._

_His vision tinted red as he seemed to hear a dull thumping in his mind. It sounded oddly like the beating of a drum — one that played horrible symphonies. Symphonies of destruction and war, and symphonies of exactly what he was about to do to these beasts._

_Greyback lunged at him, but Gilderoy was ready._

_A Banishing Hex struck the werewolf in the chest and he sailed backwards, slamming his skull hard against a tree. The impact would have killed any human, but Greyback leapt back up to his feet as if his head had hit nothing more solid than a pillow. All of the others had rallied too. They swarmed forward, but Gilderoy stayed calm and made a wide, sweeping arc with his wand._

_“GĒ RHEŌ!”_

_Without warning, the very ground around the werewolves changed. The earth itself rose up around them. Roots entangled them, dirt rose around their bodies and solidified, and even trees came to life and ensnared as many as they could. Within seconds, they were all restrained and, despite their best efforts, it was clear that none of them had any hope of escape._

_This time, there would be no running. There would be no surviving what came next._

_Gilderoy Lockhart learned from his mistakes._

_“This is for my mother, you pieces of shit!” he snarled, tears stinging his eyes as he flourished his wand before thrusting it high into the air and letting out a defiant cry for the world to hear._

_“FIENDFYRE!”_

_This was the part he had questioned. He hated the beasts before tonight — hated them immeasurably so — but Fiendfyre had rather strict esoteric requirements that could not be met by your average witch or wizard. Even that was ignoring the fact that most just couldn’t cast it due to a lack of power or the control necessary to not kill themselves with it._

_No, beyond all of that, one who wished to successfully cast Fiendfyre could never hope to do so unless they honestly hated a person so badly that they were willing to destroy themselves if it meant destroying the person in question._

_After seeing the desecrated corpse of his mother after all these years, Gilderoy had no doubt at all that he could cast Fiendfyre. A murderous light sparkled vividly against his irises, gleaming in the moonlight as the portal-like distortion tore itself open in the air, allowing the flames of death to spur forth with the vigour of a pack of dogs set to consume a slab of meat._

_The werewolves were yelping and whining as the fire swallowed many of them whole in seconds. Some tried to flee, but it was fruitless. The very forest was on fire, as the flames sought to consume every last one of Gilderoy’s enemies. Even being grazed with Fiendfyre would leave burns that would slowly kill the inflicted victim, and Gilderoy Lockhart could have apparated out of that clearing with complete and total certainty that his plan had succeeded._

_But he didn’t._

_Not until he saw the flames consume Fenrir Greyback, and not until he had revelled in the look of abstract terror that had marred the werewolf’s face._

_Only then did Gilderoy Lockhart dispel his Fiendfyre and apparate away._

_And only later would he come to a startling realization._

_Even after achieving what he had sought for so long, he still somehow felt empty._

__**October 15, 1989  
A Pub In Dublin  
10:36 PM** _ _

_Almost a full month had passed since Gilderoy Lockhart had taken care of the werewolf that had haunted his dreams for several years now; a feat that had earned him the Order of Merlin, Third Class — if only because the Ministry of Magic had no idea how he had actually gone about killing the werewolves. There had been an initial rush of victory, but it had worn off quickly, and Gilderoy was left feeling empty._

_He had no idea what he wanted to do now. His life had been all about revenge for so long, but there was no one left to take revenge upon._

_Seriously, you couldn’t write this sort of tragedy. The main protagonist accomplishes everything he ever wanted, only to realize his life now had no purpose._

_Hm… that wasn’t the first time he had thought that._

_Gilderoy giggled, an action likely brought on by the copious amounts of fire whiskey he had consumed that night. If nothing else, perhaps writing a book would take his mind off of things. And if it helped people avoid similar fates to that of his mother, all the better._

_And that was how Gilderoy Lockhart found his new passion. Ensuring that no one found themselves in the same position as his mother, and doing his best — through informative writing — to ensure that no more children ended up parentless and vengeful._

__**July 5, 1992  
A Hotel in London  
10:21 AM** _ _

__Gilderoy,  
It has been so long, has it not?_ _

__Firstly, allow me to extend my most sincere apologies for the loss of your mother and father. It is a true shame, the tragedies your family has sustained in the past century, and I must confess that your father was a sort of personal favourite of mine._ _

__If nothing else, the silver lining does seem to be you! It has seemed to me and all of your former professors that you have grown in leaps and bounds since you graduated from Hogwarts, if your most wonderful books are anything to use as judgement. You have grown so much, in fact, that I would like to offer you a place at Hogwarts as the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts for this upcoming school year._ _

__Please respond swiftly and promptly._ _

__Yours truly,  
Albus Dumbledore_ _

_That… had been unexpected. It would be a year off of travelling and writing, which wasn’t something Gilderoy was super keen on. Not so much due to the downgrade in pay, but more so because his writing had — according to the exorbitant amounts of fan mail he received — helped so many, which had been the goal all along._

_But then again…_

_Directly helping the next generation to defend themselves at all times? An opportunity to instill a philosophy in them to maybe pass it on to their own children years down the road?_

_Gilderoy sighed as he reached for his favourite quill._

_How could he refuse such a perfect opportunity?_

__**July 24, 1992  
The Department of Mysteries  
9:25 PM** _ _

__Gilderoy,  
I am afraid that, on this occasion, I am contacting you on much more formal business than our usual catchup sessions. _ _

__Your presence is requested by the Department of Mysteries. Meet me at the department entrance and we will proceed from there._ _

___Regards,  
Saul Croaker  
Voice of the Unspeakables_

_“A veil and crossed wands?” Gilderoy mocked as Croaker led him into his office deep within the most secretive sector of the Ministry of Magic. Gilderoy had needed to sign a magically-binding contract to even be allowed this far. “For the secretive lot you are, you’re not exactly subtle, are you?”_

_“I assure you that if we didn’t want you to know exactly who was contacting you, our address would have been far less flamboyant.”_

_“Which brings us to the point, I suppose,” said Lockhart. “You want me here and you wanted me to know exactly who was getting a hold of me?” Croaker nodded. “Why? What is it you want with me?”_

_Croaker looked up at him with a blank expression. “You took the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, correct?”_

_Lockhart blinked. That was certainly not public information. Had he been speaking with anyone other than an Unspeakable, he might have even considered denying it. Instead, he just nodded. “I did, yes.”_

_“Which is why I personally suggested you for a little… operation of ours.”_

_“Operation?”_

_“That is an apt term, yes.”_

_“I’m going to assume the less veiled version is that you want eyes inside of Hogwarts for some grand scheme or another?”_

_“Not quite as grand as you might think, but that is the general idea, yes.”_

_“So you want eyes in the castle because?”_

_“Because there are two people of interest who we would like you to keep your eyes on. It is something we discussed ways of handling. Normally, there are no people of interest to our department within Hogwarts. Not people who we are in a position to monitor, at the very least. On rare occasions, there is one student. Two is almost unheard of.”_

_“Who are these students?”_

_Croaker opened the drawer to his desk and slid aside the parchment he had viewed more than a year ago now. Gilderoy, having already guaranteed his own silence by signing the contract, picked up the sheet of parchment and looked at it._

_His eyebrows knit together. “So you want me to spy on students?”_

_Croaker smiled thinly. “You wouldn’t be here if that was all we wanted. It’s simply an added benefit.”_

_“What else, then?”_

_“We expect… possible meddling at Hogwarts.”_

_“And you were tipped off how?”_

_“When Albus Dumbledore managed to get his hands on a very powerful magical artifact last year and set it up within that very school. We watched the castle closely last year and can’t help but feel that something has changed.” Croaker shrugged. “We could be completely wrong, but it never hurts to have eyes in the castle.”_

_“And you can’t use an Unspeakable because?”_

_“Because Dumbledore would never allow one of us in the castle, and the Hogwarts Charter is shockingly restrictive.” It was clear Croaker was tiring of answering questions. “It is a yes or no, Gilderoy. Do you accept the position?”_

_Gilderoy hesitated. It was little work on his end, especially if the DoM’s suspicions were for nothing._

_He sighed. “Very well, Saul. I accept the position.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I apologize if there are still any typos or whatnot spaced throughout this chapter. This chapter and the last were originally written prior to the start of year 2, and then a lot was tweaked and added, so I apologize if anything was missed. I will be going over this with a more critical eye at some point in the future.**
> 
> **I completely understand that many people think this major interjection into the story takes away from the year’s climax. I do understand that and I do see the reviews. It is, however, critical to Lockhart’s character, as well as Emily’s. There is a ton of foreshadowing in here for major events in the future. That is largely why I couldn’t have dotted this in periodically throughout the year. The actual scenes needed to be written out for those reasons.**
> 
> **It also very much plays into the next chapter, so…**
> 
> **Obviously, this would never be done in an original novel; but this is not an original novel. I largely use fanfiction to practice different components of writing. AoC is largely the way it is so I can work on long-term development, worldbuilding, and interweaving subplots. I understand it is paced very slowly and that it isn’t how a novel would or should be paced. The pacing is very slow on purpose. It is a conscious choice I am not changing, even though I don’t think year 3 will be as long as year 2. The slower pacing allows me to get a handle on the components of writing this story and is helping me to improve in the aforementioned areas. I will then work on allowing those abilities to flourish in shorter forms later down the road.**
> 
> **I just thought I would address some of the pacing concerns that have been brought up. I am aware of them, but they are there intentionally. If it is something that bothers you, that is perfectly fine. There are plenty of faster-paced stories out there, but just know I am aware of them and it is a conscious choice I have made in this story.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors AloW, Asmodeus Stahl, Chocolate, Hellion, Hyuck, Michiganster98, Sectumus Prince, and UbiquitouslyVerbose for their corrections/contributions this week.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **A massive thank you is also extended to my first top-tier Patron, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, for her generous support on that platform! It continues to boggle my mind each and every day, and it is something for which I will be forever grateful!**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, February 13, 2021. Or you can read it now by joining my Discord server, or you can read the next two by joining my Patreon.**


	36. The Shedding of Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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_**June 5, 1993  
The Chamber of Secrets  
12:11 AM** _

Harry’s eyes never left Riddle’s fallen body as Lockhart spun his elaborate tale. He gave only the necessary details, but as he neared the end of his story, Harry could begin to see where he at least suspected Lockhart was taking it. 

A large part of Harry wanted to strike Riddle down in spite of Lockhart’s tale, but he doubted the professor would have allowed that to happen. He surely would have blocked any attempt Harry made. Even if he didn’t, he was reluctantly transfixed by the story being told to him, though he wasn’t entirely sold on its relevance. 

With that being said, if Riddle so much as moved during the story, Harry would strike her down in a heartbeat. 

They had never covered Grindelwald’s war in History of Magic. He had read a bit about the notorious sorcerer in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ but the book hadn’t spoken of him in such detail. He had never known the man kept a training facility for his next generation of children soldiers, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Grindelwald was worse than Riddle ever had been.

And then there was Riddle herself…

Whether the falling of the wards around Katalysator had weakened Grindelwald or not, an eighteen-year-old Riddle going toe-to-toe with that generation’s Dark Lord was still mind-boggling — even if he would have killed her had it not been for Dumbledore’s intervention.

And didn’t that make things so much more confusing.

The Riddle before him was a fifth-year manifestation of herself and already, she obviously despised Dumbledore and knew he had been onto her. Yet, at the end of her seventh year, she had willingly fought alongside him in the Battle of Katalysator. 

It just made no sense.

Nor did Riddle herself, for that matter.

Harry hadn’t seen the memories, but the way Lockhart described her didn’t add up. A somewhat compassionate — if still ruthless to those who opposed her — woman turning into the monster that was Lady Voldemort? It really didn’t make sense. From what he had been told, Harry had a hard time imagining the same Riddle that had saved Sigmund Lockhart from Katalysator murdering him and his wife in cold blood.

There had been other, more interesting tidbits as well, but nothing that was immediately pressing. Harry did note the presence of a man named Giaus down though, particularly in light of his role. He would bet a large amount of gold that was Giaus Weitts, the grandfather of both Grace and Charlotte.

And didn’t that makes things all the more interesting. 

It wasn’t immediately pressing, but more than a little bit intriguing and most definitely something to look into in the future.

Which brought them back to the present set of circumstances…

“I don’t see what this changes,” said Harry. “She’s attacked children and was willing to kill one of them if it meant she came back to power. Maybe the magic involved made her different, maybe your father just misread her. Either way, she can’t be left unchecked.”

He could feel the anger boiling right beneath his skin, but his Occlumency was more firmly in place than ever before. His eyes darted over towards where Charlus had landed after being flung off the basilisk in the creature’s final moments. The-Boy-Who-Lived had clearly struck his head against the floor, for he now laid there completely unmoving. Harry actually thought this was quite fortunate. If he was more active, Charlus would have doubtlessly made the situation all the more chaotic. Lockhart had fired off a silent Diagnostic Charm during his tale, so Harry knew the boy couldn’t be in too poor a condition. If he had been, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor surely would have acted.

“And therein lies the problem,” snapped Lockhart. “The magic is most definitely changing her. My father was wrong on a lot of things, but I don’t think he misread Riddle. I watched his memories and came to the same conclusion he did. I don’t think Emily Riddle was ever a good person, but I don’t think she was a monster who deserved to die.”

“And that’s the problem, sir,” countered Harry, putting a positively poisonous pinch of politeness into his tone. “You’re speaking in past tense. Maybe Riddle wasn’t a problem in the forties, but she’s proven to be a massive problem this year. I’m sorry, sir. I can’t just let her go after what she did to my friends and what she tried to do to me.”

Annoyance and frustration was beginning to slip into his voice despite his best efforts to prevent exactly that from happening, but Harry still managed to mostly maintain his cool. Grace and Calypso had drawn near now, and both of their wands were trained on Riddle’s fallen form as well.

Lockhart took a deep, shaky breath. “You said it yourself. I don’t think you have ever truly met Emily Riddle.”

“She’s right—”

“She is now. Think back to her posturing, Potter. She spoke of a single-minded compulsion. One that seemed to force her to pursue rebirth above all other things.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “You’re saying that everything she did was only because of some Compulsion Charm? You’re making excuses for someone who kidnapped students and was ready to kill?”

“I’m not making excuses for anyone.”

“Really, because that’s what it sounds like to me. You’re thinking of a Riddle who your father knew. This Riddle is different, clearly.”

“Yes, because of the—”

“Sir, with her level of Occlumency, I doubt a Compulsion Charm could just make her become a different person.” He looked up towards Grace, who had never steered him astray in regards to the Mind Arts before. “That’s impossible, right?”

“I’m… not entirely sure.”

Harry felt as though he had been slapped. “What—”

“If the charms were just cast on a person who happened to be a high-level Occlumens, then yes, I think it would be impossible. The problem is… she was tied to an object, which likely weakened her and strengthened the magic. To an extent, her existence could have even been somewhat dependent on that charm.” She shrugged. “It’s impossible to say without knowing a lot more about the object.”

“Precisely!” agreed Lockhart. “I’m not saying we let her walk free; not at all. That would be foolish and ridiculous. I understand revenge, Harry. Surely you can see that after what I’ve told you. I understand how you must feel, and I know nothing would satisfy you more than revenging yourself upon Riddle. All I’m saying is that I don’t think it’s the wisest course of action. If there is even an ounce of doubt that Riddle was in control of herself, surely that should be enough? Would you sentence a girl to death if that girl had no control over the actions she was being sentenced for?”

Harry scrunched up his face and pressed his hands to his temples. This was all such a mess. He wanted nothing more than to kill Riddle on the spot for what she had done to Daphne, Cassius, and himself. But he could see where Lockhart was coming from. He could see it, but his vengeful streak was stronger, and it was slowly winning out.

“I’m not going to let you kill her, Harry.”

Harry’s head whipped around so fast that his neck cracked painfully. He barely even noticed, staring incredulously up at Grace, who had spoken. Her face was set in a hard, somber expression. “She took Daphne—”

“I’m not going to let her walk away scott-free, either,” Grace assured him. “I just don’t want you to live with the consequences of being a murderer at the age of twelve.”

“The… consequences?”

“Miss Weitts,” cautioned Lockhart. “I’m not sure this conversation—”

“Respectfully, Professor, we will need to stop him from killing her if you don’t let me explain this. I see both sides of the argument, but I care more about Harry than I do about her. So long as she can never hurt anyone close to me again, I don’t care what happens to Riddle. The only thing I care about is that Harry doesn’t damage himself just to get revenge for friends who will be perfectly fine.” She winced slightly. “Fine from a physical standpoint, at least.”

“Will they even be fine?” asked Calypso, speaking for the first time in minutes and sounding more nervous than Harry had ever heard her sound before.

“Riddle said they would be,” Harry remembered. “Except for Ares, because she was supposed to take over her body. Now… well, the ritual didn’t go as planned, so I’m not sure.”

“I think they’ll be fine,” theorized Grace. “I think the only thing that changed was her semi-corporeal form becoming her vessel and that the ritual just drew on Ares instead of you.”

“What was that?” asked Calypso. “Was it… taking bits of their soul?”

“No,” said Lockhart, “that’s not possible. There would be… consequences if that happened. It might have been taking something closely connected to the soul. Probably something connected enough to cause micro-tears of sorts, but not enough to truly damage the soul. That would be very problematic.”

Harry’s face contorted with frustration. He wasn’t going to be able to strike down Riddle. Not with Grace and Lockhart both opposed to the idea. Calypso had yet to make her stance heard, but Harry doubted he would be able to sneak a killing blow past the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and the most skilled student in the school — even with the help of Calypso.

“The point still stands,” said Grace, peering at Harry with a stubborn expression. “Murder is a powerful thing. It’s a very dark symbol, and symbols have power.” 

This ritual had proven that much — even if Harry hadn’t known it already — so he didn’t argue the point. 

“Murder is a symbol for a lot of things, but none of them are good. To murder is to change oneself forever. Your soul… well, soul magic is a touchy thing, but it will never quite be the same. It won’t completely break apart, but there will be a sort of deep scarring that never goes away. It can mostly heal, but its effects will always be there. It’s not something I’m willing to let you experience. Not at your age, at the very least”

Harry was struck again by the oddity of how much Grace seemed to care. He hadn’t done anything worth this much fondness or protectiveness from her that he could think of. Not that it mattered; once she had brought up the point about not letting him do it for his own good, he knew she wouldn’t step aside. It also did add a drop or two of hesitation to the sizzling pit of vengeful fury that was crying out for retribution. 

“So what are we going to do with her, then?” spat Harry, his stomach churning with the dissatisfaction he felt at the inevitable events to come.

“Give her to the Aurors,” Grace answered without missing a beat. “Let them decide what to do with her. I doubt anyone would argue if she was sent to Azkaban.”

Harry noticed the way Lockhart seemed to fidget a bit uncomfortably after that proposal. If he hadn’t been very sure his story wasn’t a lie, he might have questioned Lockhart’s loyalty. He seemed… hesitant for odd reasons Harry didn’t know.

“What about the others?” asked Calypso, gesturing at the bodies strewn across the chamber’s ancient, stone floor. 

Grace swept her wand in the direction of the fallen bodies and they all levitated up into the air. 

“The better question is how we’re going to get them out of the chamber,” said Harry.

“If the Phoenix is amiable,” Lockhart said carefully, “it could do it. Incredible things, phoenixes.”

When searching his bank of memories, Harry realized he knew a disturbingly small amount about phoenixes. They were immortal birds of fire who had healing properties and could travel via flames? He was reasonably sure that was at least a semi-bastardized version of the facts, but it was all he had ever read about them.

Fawkes was hovering not far from where Charlus had fallen. In his beak was the Sorting Hat once more, though a gleaming sword lay on the ground under where the bird floated. Harry’s eyes widened when they focused upon the sword. 

As he had first noticed, it was silver and encrusted with a number of splendid rubies. What he hadn’t noticed the first time was the name carved into the blade; one that every single person in Magical Britain had known since at least the age of eleven.

_Gryffindor_

“Charlus actually just killed Slytherin’s monster with Gryffindor’s sword.” Harry’s voice was toneless, largely because he wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused. 

He couldn’t deny there was a certain amount of dramatic irony to that which was hard to ignore, but he also dreaded that the Boy-Who-Lived may just become even more insufferable as a result of the fact. Perhaps being unconscious for the battle’s end whilst his Slytherin brother exited the Chamber of Secrets under his own power would help to balance out the boy’s ego. It might have been a far-fetched hope, but it was one that Harry happily latched onto, if for no other reason than he had more important things to worry about. 

When her Summoning Charm produced no results, Calypso levitated the sword into her grasp as the four conscious figures made sure they were, in one way or another, touching each of the unconscious forms. Harry had suspected that they would have to coax Fawkes into helping them, but he seemed to know what they wanted without being told. As soon as their position had been established, the bird flew towards, of all people, Harry, and perched upon his shoulder. 

The next thing any of them knew, the world was a haze of brightly flickering fire. When it cleared, Harry could only tell that they were in a Hogwarts corridor. Which one, he couldn’t say. 

The next thing he realized was that they were not alone.

Three figures who had been facing the opposite direction spun on their heels with wands raised. 

Harry had never seen anything like them before. 

Their grey, hooded cloaks completely obscured their faces, seeming to hide them behind an impenetrable veil of shadows. Their bodies couldn’t even reliably be distinguished as male or female, and it was perhaps the oddest thing Harry had ever seen.

“Lockhart,” one of the figures said, drawing the attention of all onto the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. “Where have you been? We have spent the better part of an hour scouring the castle in search of who was supposed to be our trusted associate.”

Lockhart flushed. “Er… yes, you… have my apologies. As you can no doubt see, I’ve been a busy man this evening.”

The figures’ heads all turned towards their cargo, and Harry could picture the widening of their eyes without issue, even if such a thing was impossible to actually see. “You’ve done it!” said one of them, actually breaking character for all of a second and sounding legitimately surprised.

“It… was a tad more complicated than that, but yes, I suppose I did.”

“What are Unspeakables doing here?” Calypso asked sharply, glaring at Lockhart with a suspicious air about her. “This wasn’t the agreement.”

He winced. “Well… you never exactly gave me time to explain the situation.” When the gaze of all three teens made it obvious the time to do just that had arrived, Lockhart sighed heavily. “Oh, very well. Earlier this evening, the Aurors stationed around the castle were replaced by these fine men or women — Merlin only knows which they are. They are three operatives belonging to the Department of Mysteries. They were… seen as the more viable option moving forward in regards to the ongoing crisis posed by the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Who is it?” asked one of the Unspeakables. “I’m presuming one of them is the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Her,” said Harry, immediately indicating Riddle.

“Who is she?”

Harry, Grace, Calypso and Lockhart all exchanged glances. “Um,” began Lockhart, “perhaps this conversation would be… better had in my office.”

_**Some time later, in Gilderoy Lockhart’s office…** _

There had been a brief intermission during which all of the bodies had been examined by the Unspeakables. Afterwards, all but Ares were sent to the hospital wing. They wanted to examine her more closely if possible, so she was kept behind. There was also the fact she was the only one who hadn’t been petrified. Ironically, that meant she was actually in better shape than all of her victims — despite having been semi-possessed since at least September.

Harry, Grace, Calypso and Lockhart then told the DoM about what had happened. Harry could tell at once that Grace wasn’t being truthful about how she had found the bathroom, but that was something to bring up later. To Harry, it seemed very hard to believe that she and a number of other students — the ones who were still unconscious, having also been shipped off to the hospital wing — had just stumbled across it; especially considering the wards that had been erected prior to his kidnapping.

Harry was somewhat surprised the three Unspeakables didn’t call her out on what he viewed as an obvious deception by her standards. They just sat and listened to everything unfold, and Harry couldn’t help but notice that — despite their magical veils and what appeared to be a rock-solid hold of their mind — the three cloaked figures seemed to steadily become more and more agitated as the tale went on.

When it had ended, they actually stepped out of the room to speak among themselves, erecting obscenely powerful privacy wards in the process.

The wait for their return wasn’t terribly long, but Harry could never remember a time during which a room he was occupying had ever been so tense. Nobody knew what was about to happen, but everybody knew that something significant was about to occur.

When the Unspeakables entered the room once more, the tension only amplified. “There is only one way in which this can be done,” one of them said. “We are taking Miss Riddle back to the Ministry of Magic tonight. That is non-negotiable and it will happen with or without your collective cooperation. There are… things we must discuss with her about this plan. Things she didn’t make any of you aware of.”

“She won’t tell you,” Harry said quietly. 

If there was anything to any of the comparisons Riddle had drawn between the two of them — and he did reluctantly have to admit she seemed to be onto something with them — there was no way she was going to answer those questions. 

“And she will resist Veritaserum,” added Grace. “From the limited amount of information I have about her ability in the Mind Arts, I doubt there is any chance of the potion working.”

“Given who the active version of this woman became years after this form of her was locked away in that diary, we suspected as much. We are confident that she will speak with us. I’m afraid we can’t tell any of you anything more than that.”

The four of them nodded; though Harry did so a bit seethingly. He had no idea what they wanted with Riddle — or what they were going to do with her — but this somehow didn’t sound like a criminal trial. That was about the only thing Harry wanted right now, at least if dealing a fatal blow to the bitch was truly not an option. He could only hope that trial he sought would soon follow whatever form of interrogation they had planned. And Merlin, he hoped whatever form that took hurt like hell.

“The difficult part about this is making it happen in a low-key manner,” continued the same speaker. “This entire mess has become highly publicized, so the public will be demanding answers. In order for this to work, all of you are going to need to stay quiet. As far as you’re concerned, you have never met — nor heard of — a girl named Emily Riddle. You all fought valiantly in the Chamber of Secrets and destroyed the diary, which was possessing a student who will not be publicly named. They will stay anonymous for their own sake, but also to avoid inciting the retaliation of the Black family. If your story holds up, I doubt Lady Black would take well to this going public, and it is a very difficult thing to prove.”

“Couldn’t Ares submit a pensieve memory?” asked Harry. “Of her mother telling her to write in the diary, I mean? There’s more than enough evidence in this case to call for one.”

“Unless Bellatrix Black is extremely foolish, she will have taken precautions to see that exact thing cannot happen. It’s likely Heiress Black was sworn to secrecy on the matter. If the head of her family demanded it, she would have had little choice in the matter.”

“Or,” said Grace, “she might have just imposed a family-specific sanction to classify anything pertaining to the diary a family secret.”

“So basically,” said Harry, bitterness evident in his voice, “there’s nothing we can do to help Ares?” 

All others in the room exchanged bashful looks before most of them nodded. Harry rubbed furiously at his temples. The corruption in Magical Britain really was pathetic. All of the horrendous loopholes and contradictions to fit those in power were nauseating, and Harry’s mind was suddenly brought back to his months’ old conversation with Lord Giaus Weitts.

_“The second thing is for you to establish what it is you want in life. Do not simply answer to be the greatest wizard in the world. That is not a goal worthy of somebody with your potential. If you are going to be associated with my family, I will not see your potential warped in a way that will ruin us, but I will not see it squandered either. I do not need an answer for several years still, but think very deeply, Harry Potter. Think of what it is that defines you. Think of what it is you think should define the world. When you have thought about those two things, come to me with your dearest ambition. Not a small, sentimental, personal goal, but an achievement that would be truly worthy of a lord.”_

Harry thought the beginnings of an idea were forming in his mind regarding that front, but he couldn’t presently dedicate much thought to that spark. He had too much going on right in front of him to divert his attention anywhere else.

“The point is,” continued the Unspeakable, “we need your silence. You will be presented with two options. The first is an obliviation of all things pertaining to Emily Riddle, and the second is a vow of secrecy that will ensure you can tell no one of her involvement in the Chamber of Secrets saga that wracked this school.”

“I’ll take the oath.” Harry and Grace answered at the exact same time, their voices ringing out together. 

Harry hated the idea of people mucking about with his mind, so a Memory Charm had never been on the table. Even if it had, he had other thoughts and memories connected to the name Emily Riddle. Thoughts and memories that might be affected in one way or another if the obliviation went through. Thoughts and memories he wanted complete and total context of with which he could extrapolate and use to help him analyze things later. 

Calypso and Lockhart both also agreed, but Harry had a point to make before the oath went forth. “What about my brother? He also saw Riddle and will know who was behind the attacks.”

“Do you think he would be amiable to taking an oath?”

Harry snorted. “Not before he had the chance to run off and tell Dumbledore everything he knows.”

The Unspeakables stood in silence for a moment, clearly thinking hard. “Obliviation is an option,” one of them said carefully. “The only troubling possibility with that is that it gets discovered in time.”

“Albus plans to teach the boy Occlumency,” said Lockhart. “I’ve actually been helping him along these past few months. Depending on the man’s teaching style, it isn’t impossible he might discover the obliviation.”

“The potion.”

The voice came from behind all of them, and several of the gathered crowd jumped. For his part, Harry had his wand drawn and its tip was glowing red.

To the surprise of all present, it had been the now awake Ares Black who had spoken. Her voice was hoarse and a bit faint, but she was awake, if barely.

“The… potion?” asked the same Unspeakable who had just been speaking, disregarding the girl’s health in light of her statement. “What potion?”

Ares was looking at Harry. “The one you took from Mulciber and Jugson.”

Harry’s eyes widened as his posture stiffened, but he shook his head almost as fast as the revelation struck him. “That won’t work. Mulciber and Jugson already added their blood to that potion. It would only work if they were involved, and it would only make the drinker forget about their involvement.”

“What is this potion?” asked Grace with narrowed eyes.

“I… stole it off of Mulciber and Jugson the night they tried to use it on Charlotte back in November. According to them, the potion lets whoever drinks it remember everything that happened. The catch is, whoever adds their blood to the potion won’t show up in the drinker’s memories of the event.”

“Do either of you know of this potion?” The two Unspeakables who had been questioned by their counterpart shook their heads. The third looked back towards Harry. “It’s likely we can duplicate the recipe even without knowledge of the potion given a day or two to do so. I would like to request you fetch us this potion, please.”

Harry didn’t like this; he didn’t like this one bit. That had been an ace up his sleeve, and quite possibly the most perfect bit of blackmail one could ever ask for. He was more than a little bit hesitant to give it up, but he hardly thought there was a choice.

There was also something about the way Ares — who was now slowly fading back into unconsciousness — had spoken her suggestion. She sounded… hopeful; desperate, even, as if she wanted Riddle’s identity kept safe.

Harry wondered if there was some form of stockholm syndrome going on, and he resolved to keep an eye out for Ares Black. He would do so from afar this time, as he wasn’t sure he had ever known the real Ares, and he had no intention of getting betrayed again. But he would be watching, for the abuse of a child was probably the thing he hated most in the entire world given his own past experiences. Ares earned his sympathy through that alone, and the last thing she needed was more piled on top of it.

“What will be done with Charlus until the potion can be duplicated, mixed with Riddle’s blood, and administered?” asked Lockhart.

“For now, a simple Sleeping Charm will do. We’ll cast the charm before vacating the premises in possession of Miss Riddle. One of us will return with a vial containing Draught of Living Death before anyone will have time to lift the basic charm. I’m sure Snape could brew it's counter, but we have it in stock and will almost definitely have the potion duplicated before he could brew the antidote.”

All present agreed and Harry reluctantly made his way back towards the Slytherin dormitory, entirely unhappy with how the events following the confrontation down in the chamber had played out.

This really wasn’t his year.

__**June 5, 1993  
The Great Hall  
7:06 PM**

The hours following the closure of the Chamber of Secrets were best described as a frenzied whirlwind. Harry had not escaped the grasp of the matron, Madam Pomfrey, though he had mercifully been allowed to leave after breakfast. He felt quite weak for the rest of the day — likely due to his almost inclusion in the ritual — but he felt no ill effects outside of that.

He was questioned everywhere he went for the duration of the day and for the first time, he took a small amount of pity on Charlus for his celebrity status. If he had to deal with this every day of his life, like his brother, Harry thought he would either be insane, in Azkaban for several counts of murder, or both.

That attention resulted in him spending much of the day with Charlotte, Blaise, and Tracey, as far away from people as one could possibly be. 

That night, avoiding crowds wasn’t something that was at all possible. The school had lifted the lockdown that morning when news had broken of the chamber’s closure. Even the _Daily Prophet_ had caught wind of the events quickly enough to get a morning’s edition out. 

As a result of the euphoria and sense of total relief sweeping through everyone who had not been present during the meeting with the Unspeakables, a celebratory feast was called for that night. Harry was immensely grateful that the year’s travesties had passed, but he couldn’t quite relax in the same way as the others. Not with Riddle in the hands of the Department of Mysteries and still very much, in his cynical opinion, with a chance of escape.

He maintained that mood for most of the meal, though he did smile a small smile when Hagrid strode through the doors of the Great Hall to much applause. 

Harry didn’t care much for the half giant one way or the other, but he also had no desire to see anyone wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban. The giant of a man didn’t seem at all happy to see Harry if the glare he levelled him with was anything to judge by, but Harry could live with that. He didn’t regret removing Dumbledore from his position of power; collateral damage or not. 

There had been some rumours that the man would be retaking his post as Hogwarts Headmaster, but nothing had been said definitively as of yet. The opinion in Slytherin was divided. Though not many cared to see him return, some argued his unbreakable reputation would see him back in power within the week. Others argued the blatant neglect of an Heir and wrongful handling of evidence was enough to shatter even Dumbledore’s image and that he wouldn’t be seen inside of Hogwarts again. Harry had no idea which was true, but he was selfishly hoping for the latter.

The real surprise of the night — and the thing that broke Harry out of his misery — happened about an hour into the feast, when all of the previously petrified and missing students were marshalled into the Great Hall. The ovation they received was thunderous, and those who had lost friends to the attacks rushed forward to embrace them. 

Harry was one of the first to embrace Daphne and he didn’t need to think to realize that it was the first time he had ever been the one to instigate such physical contact. Insecurities and trauma be damned, he had missed her more than he would ever care to admit. Tracey had actually cried tears of happiness, and Harry was sure both he and Daphne herself would have joined in had it not been for their rather firm grasp on Occlumency. 

It was the first time in months Harry let go of everything and just enjoyed himself. Easily the first time since Daphne had gone missing, but — if he was being honest with himself — most likely since the Duelling Club had their only meeting. The feeling of blissful weightlessness he was now experiencing in regards to his mental burdens was perhaps the single best thing he had ever felt.

Daphne was quiet throughout most of the meal, but that was to be expected. For her, it only felt as though she had closed her eyes for a moment, opened them, and then found herself in the hospital wing. It could have been much worse from a trauma standpoint, but one still couldn’t be expected to bounce right back into the flow of things. Especially not while she felt so exhausted, likely due to whatever the ritual had taken from her.

Still, Harry could tell something was bothering her, so he followed quietly when she exited the hall — under the pretence of using the restroom. His sense of paranoia had greatly increased over the course of the year. He had the Marauder’s Map in hand and his senses were tuned into his ring, but neither alerted him to any presence that wasn’t that of Daphne. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, making sure she noticed and turned to face him before speaking.

She sighed. “I am, it’s just… I feel horrible about what happened.”

Harry’s face scrunched up. “You’re not the one who should feel horrible, Daphne.”

“See, and that’s exactly why I do. I don’t remember anything that happened after I saw those eyes, but it doesn’t matter. I know the effect it had on other people, and that’s the biggest problem.” 

There was a great amount of emotion in those sapphire orbs; the ones he had missed so much since her disappearance back in January.

“I know you,” she continued, eyeing him with some concern. “I know you blame yourself for some stupid reason. The same way I know you were upset with yourself because you couldn’t do anything to stop your relatives from being awful — even though you were young and not in any position to defend yourself when it happened. I know it affected others too. My family can’t have taken it well. I’m sure I’ll see them tomorrow, but I worry about my sister.”

“Astoria?”

“Yeah, she’s… under a lot of stress as is. She has… something big coming up that has been on her mind for a long time. We were all trying to make sure she kept in a good state of mind, but I doubt my disappearance helped anything.”

“That’s not your fault, though. There was nothing you could have done against that snake.” Harry had to resist the urge to shudder. “If Fawkes hadn’t been there and if Charlus didn’t have whatever the hell kind of luck he has — we would all be petrified because of that thing.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” jabbed Daphne, but Harry could tell there was no bite in her words. Her smile was a touch watery, and he couldn’t help but return it with one of his own. She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll agree to try and get over my ridiculous guilt if you try and get over yours?”

Harry couldn’t help but allow his smile to grow. Merlin, he had missed Daphne. “That sounds agreeable to me.”

“Can I… ask a favour?” 

The sudden shift in her tone took him aback, but Harry kept his face impassive. “Of course.”

“Can you teach me to duel? I don’t need to become amazing at it. I know you started teaching Charlotte, and I don’t need to become as good as she wants to. I’m not a duellist and I know it, but… I don’t want to have something like that happen again. I know it wouldn’t have helped me there, but just in general. I don’t want to go through that again, and I especially don’t want to put others through it again.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Of course,” he agreed, “so long as I get… preferential treatment in Potions.” 

She swatted him on the shoulder. “Prat.”

“That’s me.”

She laughed and even Harry followed her example. It was a rarity for him and it lifted both of their spirits, even if he did let the sound die out long before they re-entered the Great Hall.

_**Meanwhile, somewhere in the Department of Mysteries…** _

Emily felt consciousness return to her all at once. There was no slow sensation of shaking off drowsiness; she was just immediately awake.

Her dark blue eyes shot open as she tried to leap to her feet, only to realize her rise was being prevented by external forces. 

She seemed to be sitting in a high-backed chair and her wrists were bound. Her wand was also absent. More disturbingly, no magic seemed to rise to the surface of her skin when she tried to bring it forth.

She had never been unable to cast wandless magic before.

“Miss Riddle,” came a smooth voice from nearby that was so monotone she could never have placed it.

She looked hastily around but couldn’t immediately identify her companion. The room, or wherever she was, appeared to be shrouded in complete blackness.

That was until torches flickered into life all around her, and her company was made known to her.

It was a man who looked completely and totally average. Emily knew even with Occlumency she wouldn’t be able to recognize him once this conversation had ended, and that was what clued her in as to where she was. Complete panic seized her body.

She had somehow been captured by the Unspeakables.

“There is no need to panic, Miss Riddle,” the man continued. “I only want to chat with you and offer you a proposition. I think you will actually find it most enticing.” His eyes gleamed, fake as they might have been. “But first, I would like to ask you some questions… some questions about horcruxes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **One more chapter to go before the end of year 2!**
> 
> **Apologies for this one being short but I couldn’t resist ending it off here. The year 2 finale will be tying up a ton of loose ends, so I hope you’re all ready and excited for the year’s conclusion.**
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	37. The Toppling of Crowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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_**June 5, 1993  
The Department of Mysteries  
7:36 PM** _

Emily felt her entire body tense at the mere mention of the word ‘horcrux’. Her heart began to quicken as her palms threatened to sweat. Her immediate instinct was to look down towards the floor, but she resisted the urge, knowing it was a typical sign of internal self-reflection.

Once more, she tried to raise magic to the surface of her skin but she felt nothing. It was as if the very force was unwilling to interact with her and the thought made her mad. The fact that she still seemed to be capable of using Occlumency was a small miracle, by her estimation, but she was sorely missing the natural Legilimency she had enjoyed for so long.

She sat in a high-backed chair with chains that bound her wrists. She wondered if these were somehow restricting her ability to wield magic, but she couldn’t be sure without utilizing the force itself.

The sudden lack of power terrified her more than anything had for many years. Not since the very early days in that accursed place had she felt powerless. Not since those early days had she felt anything but in control, something she was presently anything but. 

“About… horcruxes?”

“Yes, Miss Riddle, about horcruxes.” The Unspeakable studied her very carefully, but she gave away no visible reaction. He fidgeted for a moment before deciding his next line of questioning. 

“I am only supposed to offer you a proposition once other methods of extraction have failed, but I already see that no other way will work. Your Occlumency is very much still intact and I doubt it could be overwhelmed by either Legilimency or Veritaserum. The former may be viable, but I hesitate to learn what mental traps the Dark Lady had in her arsenal, even at the age of sixteen.

“Which brings us to a proposition, one that I am sure you will be very interested in, even if you wouldn’t dare let that fact be known.”

Riddle’s eyes flashed. “What proposition could you make that would be of interest to me?”

“One that guarantees the thing we think you want above all else.”

Emily’s confident expression faltered for a moment, but it was quickly pulled back under control. “And what is it that you think I want above all other things?”

“Safety and security.” Riddle’s eye twitched as her heart raced, but she stayed completely impassive otherwise. 

“We’ve done some digging into the past of Emily Riddle and learned that you grew up in a muggle orphanage and that you spent time there during the London bombings. We know that at least a version of you eventually became the worst Dark Lady Britain has perhaps ever seen. Though your goals were never exactly clear, it was obvious that you wanted control above most things.” The Unspeakable paused. “And we now know that you made at least one horcrux.” Finally, Riddle’s composure slipped, if only for a split second. “In conjunction with the other findings, it stands to reason you have an inherent fear of death and helplessness, as well as a potential, smaller aversion to uncertainty — in addition to an obsession with control and power.”

Riddle kept her mouth shut and her face blank, not uttering so much as a word as she stared pensively towards the figure who was as indiscernible as one could possibly imagine. If only the man could see past her blank visage, he might truly understand the tumultuous storm of panic raging deep inside of her. 

Or, judging by what he had said already, perhaps he knew even without Legilimency.

“With all of that in mind, our proposition is thus. Our normal course of action, given the obvious risks you pose to society, would be to immediately eliminate you at all costs.” Riddle tried her best to keep a look of desperation from showing in her eyes, but she was unsure as to her degree of success in the endeavour. “It is the rational course of action and the one that should logically be taken.”

Emily said nothing. The only bit of hope she had latched onto thus far was the fact that this man seemed to be using a large number of words with hypothetical connotations. 

“It is the option we will take if you do not agree to our proposition.” Emily felt her heart sink as she nodded curtly to show she understood. “The alternative is that you answer all of our questions honestly, sign several magical contracts, and tell us everything you know about horcruxes and what you think a version of yourself might have used as soul vessels, in addition to where she may have hidden them. 

“If you do all of this and continue to comply with demands as time passes, we will follow through on our end, which is a prospect I doubt you will be able to refuse.”

“A bold statement when asking so much from me.”

“Perhaps, but in return for your compliance and aid, we will not only spare you, but we will classify all information about Emily Riddle as a secret of the department, meaning no one will be able to connect the dots between yourself and Lady Voldemort. It would ensure that any who even tried would wind up looking foolish, and we would allow you to reintegrate into wizarding society, so long as you followed the numerous restrictions that would be included in the aforementioned contracts.”

“And I would be heavily monitored, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

Emily wished she could accurately claim to have hesitated, but the decision was shockingly easy. There was really only one thing she wanted to be answered.

“If you keep me alive, am I not anchoring my other self to life?”

“Based on every test we have conducted, we have concluded with certainty that you have no direct connection to the alternate version of yourself who terrorized Magical Britain. Soul Magic is… delicate, so we are unsure of the causation of this phenomenon. We think it largely based on the cooperation of others’ influence in the ritual, as well as the fact that your soul vacated its original host; which is, in many ways, the antithesis of the horcrux ritual.”

“Will you swear this truth under oath?”

The man hesitated for a second but nodded. “When you sign your contracts, we will be returning the favour. They will bind both of us to our agreements and hold us to them under very serious threats. I can ensure a clause about our honesty in regards to such matters is included in our half of the written agreement.”

“And what of those who would bring me down despite your protection?”

“Who is it you think would dare of doing such a thing?”

“Dumbledore.” The name was spat with enough vitriol to take the Unspeakable aback, but Riddle didn’t pause long enough for him to ponder her tone’s implications. “I think it’s likely that he drove my future self out of the country and I have no doubt he would kill me this time around given the chance.” She hesitated. “The Potter twins are also interesting wildcards. They pose no threat now, but who knows how that will change in the coming years.”

“Charlus Potter will be administered a potion ensuring he forgets all about your involvement in the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Dumbledore may tell him of what he knows, but neither will act. We will… make Albus aware of the developments. While he may not unconditionally comply, I do not think it likely he will directly contradict the wishes of our Department. Doing so would be… problematic on his end.”

“And the other Potter?”

“We will cross that bridge once it becomes treacherous. Currently, I doubt he poses any threat. Now,” the Unspeakable continued, “allow me to fetch the first round of paperwork. Once that is signed, we can begin our dealings.”

_**June 12, 1993  
Hogsmeade  
8:30 PM** _

The night was warm, as one might expect in the middle of June. The whisper of the wind was soft and alluring, and its warm breeze blew the dark, raven locks into the face of the figure who had appeared on the side of an out-of-the-way street corner in one of Scotland’s major wizard-only settlements.

If anyone could see the gleam in Emily Riddle’s eyes as she stared up at the imposing outline of Hogwarts in the distance, as well as the halo of light its windows cast, they might have thought she was demented. 

Obsessed might have been a more accurate piece of terminology. She had never gotten over her attachment to the castle. Seeing it from this perspective for the first time since regaining her own physical form was like easing an addiction so demanding that the feeling of relief capitulating to its calls elicited was incomprehensible.

With her target in sight and her eyes still gleaming, Riddle swept her wand above her head, vanishing into the night as if she had blended into the very darkness itself.

_**Minutes later, in the Speaker’s Den…** _

Harry had been wrought with indecision for the better part of twenty-four hours and the feeling had been slowly tearing him apart. Daphne had noticed quickly, as had Tracey and Charlotte. He was sure Blaise picked up on it as well, but his Italian friend was far too polite to say anything; or perhaps he thought he could observe more by watching a potential breakdown. After Harry’s heightened sense of paranoia inspired by the year’s events, it wouldn’t surprise him.

He had eventually come to the same conclusion he’d reached whilst speaking with Charlotte some time ago after one of their sessions in the dungeon classroom Harry had so frequently occupied since first arriving at the castle. 

He needed to tell his friends.

Not all of them, but the ones closest to him; the ones he trusted the most. Of the four, he was least sure of Blaise. He had no idea whether or not the boy’s mother really was a serial killer, let alone where her alliances laid. The Greengrasses and Weittses were also mostly mysteries, but Harry at least had a feel for them. Not that intuition hadn’t led him far astray in the past, but it was miles better than the heaps of nothing he had to judge the Zabini family by. Tracey was by far the safest bet, if for no other reason than her betrayal wouldn’t backfire on him to the same extent. 

But he needed to tell them if they were to remain close to him, especially considering the precautions that were in place when one stood in this room.

There was no preamble. As soon as Harry and his four friends entered the room, he immediately spoke the authoritative words that would once more invoke Salazar Slytherin’s sanction, set up to secure Slytherins’ secrets for centuries to follow the man’s own passing.

Once the sanction had been imposed, Harry had started divulging all of the important things he had held from them for so long. He spoke first of his relationship with Professor Hurst during their first year, and then the way she turned out to be Voldemort, and how she had pursued rebirth via Nicholas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone. He told them of the prophecy concerning Charlus and Voldemort, and how his brother had burnt Hurst’s body to ashes when his death had seemed imminent. One of the only things he didn’t spill was what Dumbledore had said in his office about Charlus’s natural defence against Voldemort, forged directly from the power of Lily Potter’s final sacrifice.

He told them of the Chamber of Secrets and how, indirectly this time, Voldemort had been behind it all. He found it impossible to speak of either Ares Black or Emily Riddle due to the sanctions he had been placed under by the Unspeakables, but he had no doubts his friends would work out the bits about Ares in their own time. Perhaps not that her mother had intended to willingly sacrifice her, but at least the fact she had, in one capacity or another, been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets.

It still bothered Harry that he had given the potion up to the Unspeakables, but he hadn’t felt as though the choice was his. If he hadn’t complied, he wasn’t at all confident that they wouldn’t have just stunned him and taken it themselves. While it was in a trunk protected by a Parseltongue password, he would not place bets that the Unspeakables had no way of bypassing such defences. 

Really, it had been give up the potion — which was really just blackmail material, since it would only be effective against Mulciber and Jugson unless he found a way to reverse-engineer it — or make a number of ridiculously dangerous enemies.

In essence, it hadn’t been much of a choice at all.

Harry revealed all to his friends that he wasn’t bound against speaking of with a few notable exceptions. 

The most interesting of these was the journal he shared with what he could only now presume to be the modern-day incarnation of Voldemort.

Merlin… that was a nightmare.

He had no plans of ever opening that journal again. Not after she had wronged him so many times, in one incarnation or another. 

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to destroy or dispatch it, nor even speak its existence to any other. It was a weakness he hated, but the subconscious attachment to the book was most obviously there.

He sat nervously waiting for their reactions when he had finished his tale, unsure of how they might react. To his slight relief, he could tell almost at once that Tracey would react in the positive. He now recognized that as a byproduct of natural Legilimency, but he didn’t get the same intel from the others. Probably because all three of them were competent in the art of Occlumency, which was both a blessing and a curse for Harry, as far as he was concerned.

“So you really did fight her down there at the end of last year.” Daphne’s voice was shaking and it was barely louder than a whisper. It was perhaps the first time Harry had ever heard her speak in such a way before.

“I did.”

“The better question,” asked Blaise, “is why did you do it in the first place?”

Harry sighed. “It made sense to me at the time. In hindsight, I might have been wrong. I didn’t want to chance Voldemort coming back.” 

It was very interesting to Harry that of his four gathered friends, Tracey was the only one to flinch at the Dark Lady’s chosen alias. 

“Not after she had attacked my family and had seemed pretty set on killing all of us. If she got the stone, she would have been at full power again. That’s how I understood it, at least. I couldn’t risk that. The last thing I wanted was her to come after me again.” He scrunched up his face with obvious disgust. “And at the time, I was actually on pretty good terms with my brother and I didn’t really want him dead either.”

“The bigger question,” said Charlotte, “is what on earth made you think you would be able to stop Voldemort?”

It wasn’t the first time that question had come up in the past twenty-four hours. It had arisen several times in Harry’s mind whilst he mentally readied himself for this conversation. The thought had been brought on by Emily Riddle’s taunts in the Chamber of Secrets and it had actually pointed Harry to an inherent flaw in how he approached many challenges set out before him.

_“Yet you told nobody of your suspicions. I’m sure you researched me. There’s no way someone like you didn’t, especially not after you worked out the truth. I’m interested; what made you think you could bring me down alone?”_

Harry tended to get caught up in the mystery of things. More broadly, he was an extremely obsessive and goal-oriented person. What he was coming to learn was that the fact meant he would hyper-fixate on one particular thing at a time and not always take all of the factors of an equation into account. It had bitten him this year badly. Riddle was right; even if he had caught her, he would have never been able to bring her down alone. 

And now, upon further reflection, Harry realized he had never stood a chance at the end of his first year. Even though the decisions had been driven through an obsessive nature and not through Gryffindor courage, the results reminded him far too much of something Harry might have expected from one donned so proudly in scarlet and gold.

It needed to change.

_He_ needed to change.

Trust was something he was going to have to treat like an invaluable commodity going forward, and he was going to need to do a much better job of looking at the big picture and not being so fixated on the immediate forks in the road that life presented him with.

If he wanted to achieve the vague goals that had started forming in his mind ever since his meeting with the two Unspeakables, it was something he was going to need to do.

But first, he had one more secret to reveal to his friends.

Well… two, if one counted the Chamber of Secrets, which he intended on exploring tonight with their assistance.

_**At that same moment, in the Room of Requirement** _

After so many years away from the castle, Emily stood in her favourite room — outside of the Chamber of Secrets, of course.

The Room of Requirement. Or, to be more precise, the Room of Hidden Things.

To specify further, Emily stood near an old cabinet, clutching in her hands a stunning piece of jewelry that had endured for over a thousand years.

She studied it intently, marvelling at the stunning blue sapphire set in the piece. It had been lost for many years when she attended Hogwarts, but it had been her goal to find it. The fact it was here — clearly hidden by her future self and exuding the sort of presence one would expect of a horcrux — not only meant that she had found it, but it also meant she had likely gone through with her initial pipe dream regarding horcruxes.

That was to fashion at least four of them after trinkets that had once belonged to the four founders of Hogwarts.

Only now, after many lectures on the subject via the Department of Mysteries, did Emily realize the problems posed by a seven-part soul. 

Not that she disagreed with the desire for immortality… she was still very much in line with that idea and she would be achieving it in this existence as well. Whether it would be via horcruxes, though… well, she would need to gain some confidence within the department before they would leave her alone for long enough to re-explore that option.

For now, she simply pocketed the artifact and headed towards the door, with half of her business at Hogwarts for the night now concluded. How she felt about this business… well, this part stung a bit, but obligations were obligations.

It would be the last time she would see the castle before the coming September — hopefully — since the Unspeakables were toying with the idea of allowing her to finish what were realistically supposed to be her final two years of education at Hogwarts.

But before she left, she had one more objective. She had achieved a great deal by removing the diadem from its hiding place — not least of all unknowingly shattering the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position — but she still had one more feat of magic to achieve before her work was done.

_**Two minutes later, in the dungeons…** _

Harry felt an odd sense of urgency as he and his friends made their way towards the stairs that would lead them up into the main castle, at which point they would begin the trek to the second-floor girl’s bathroom; otherwise known as the entrance to the fabled Chamber of Secrets.

This odd sense of urgency bothered Harry, who had — after ignoring an odd suspicion about Ares months earlier — gathered that he really should trust his gut more often.

So he decided to make a compromise and sacrifice planned dramatic effect for brutal pragmatism.

He stopped in the corridor near the Slytherin common room that was so lavishly decorated with serpentine decor. Then, ignoring his friends’ stares, he turned to one particular snake. If he was going to give into his sense of urgency, it was best to get the shock factor that would inevitably be brought on by what he was about to do out of the way now.

**“Open!”**

A doorknob appeared from nowhere, but Harry was too busy trying not to smirk despite himself as all of his friends gasped.

He turned to them with a completely blank expression, ignoring the way that even Blaise’s eyes seemed to have bugged completely out.

“Well,” he prompted, “ladies first.”

_**A minute or so later, in a room at the Three Broomsticks…** _

It was odd for Albus Dumbledore to be back in the United Kingdom after so long away. Especially in Hogsmeade, nestled right in the looming shadow of the castle he had lorded over for so long. The castle he still hadn’t been invited back to, and the castle to which he so desperately wished to return.

For now, he had other matters that required his attention, specifically the shocking story being told to him by one Charlus Potter.

More specifically, the gaping gaps in that knowledge.

Charlus could remember going down into the Chamber of Secrets after Harry. He could remember a diary and how it had been possessing Ares Black. He could remember the exact details of a ritual and that Lady Voldemort had been involved somehow.

What he couldn’t remember is who had been forcing Ares Black to open the chamber for the better part of a year.

Dumbledore thought he knew, but that was the best he was to get, apparently. A gentle probe of Legilimency that both Charlus and James — who was present both in his capacity of Lord Potter and as a Senior Auror — had agreed to showed him nothing. 

Granted, that was only true because Albus had only searched through _recent_ memories.

Had he gone back further, he might have found an entirely different, non-potion enforced block on the Boy-Who-Lived’s memories.

But he didn’t.

He was far more concerned with the implications of all that had transpired since his removal from Hogwarts. 

Especially in the case of the diary.

Merlin, how he wished Charlus could have snagged the diary for him to examine. 

He didn’t even know if it was destroyed; and without it, he had no way of definitively concluding that Voldemort had made horcruxes as he had now suspected for some time.

All in all, the fiasco that had been the last ten months was very much still in full swing.

_**Meanwhile, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…** _

For the first time in fifty years, Emily stood in the bathroom where Myrtle Warren had died. Of course, to her, it felt as though only days had passed. She remembered it well. Myrtle wasn’t meant to die. Her death really contradicted so many things that Emily wanted to achieve, but it happened. A simple slip on a wet floor after her body had gone rigid and the next thing Emily knew, Myrtle’s head was split wide open and pouring blood. The girl was dead just minutes later.

But she couldn’t think of that now; she had more important things to do.

Namely, ensuring the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t return to the Chamber of Secrets and do any looking around. 

That would be… problematic.

His brother — if he was a Parselmouth as Emily suspected might be the case — could potentially be even more problematic.

Though, there was a small part of her that wanted Harry Potter to find the other entrances around the school.

A small part of her that was still mightily curious about all things pertaining to the boy who seemed to be her modern-day equal. At least when comparing them at the same age.

But for now, she had to make sure knowledge of this particular entrance disappeared. 

For that, she needed clear, guided intent, as well as a Secret Keeper. 

That had been extremely difficult, especially considering one could not be their own Secret Keeper, but she had worked it out in the end. Getting someone to keep the secret had been difficult, but she had managed.

With a deep, measured breath, Emily’s eyes flew open as she swept her wand in a long gesture, turning all about the room as she did so.

“FIDELIUS OCCULTUM!”

Magic hummed around the very room, swirling and building for several seconds before it radiated outwards, encompassing Emily’s envisioned area in a perimeter of shining, golden light. 

Then, with a blinding flash of magic, the few people who knew of the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets contained in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor immediately forgot it existed.

This select group of individuals even included a small group of Slytherins making their way up to the second floor, all of whom promptly and suddenly forgot where they were going and what it was they were doing.

But Emily Riddle didn’t forget.

She remembered all she had done, and all of the implications surrounding it, as she stealthily exited Hogwarts via the same secret passageway she had used to enter it not long earlier.

Her work for the night was complete and she hoped to see the castle once more in September.

_**June 13, 1993  
The Great Hall  
9:08 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_GILDEROY LOCKHART TO BE HONOURED WITH THE ORDER OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS TOMORROW IN HOGSMEADE FOR HIS HEROIC CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE EFFORT OF CLOSING THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

For once, Harry didn’t have to marvel at the spinning of information to form a headline.

The papers had been made aware of the chamber’s closure immediately, though they had been given far from all of the details.

The extent of what they had been told — or managed to ascertain — was that a Hogwarts student had been somehow forced to open the Chamber of Secrets. Charlus Potter and Gilderoy Lockhart — possibly amongst others — had located the chamber and pursued the mysterious Heir of Slytherin after the disappearance of Ares Black and the Boy-Who-Lived’s Slytherin brother. From there, the Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League had shown his medal once more, doing the heavy lifting after Charlus Potter had let the pair of them into the chamber through the use of Parseltongue.

The tale was missing some major details, obviously, but it was closer to the truth than Harry expected. 

Not that he had much time to think on the matter.

Two more bits of mail found their way in front of him before long and he frowned at the first before letting out a sigh of relief at the second.

How ironic that, if things went to plan, the second would nullify all of the implications that the first dreamed of.

Able to convince himself everything would work out — for now at least — Harry finished breakfast alongside his group of friends in relative peace. He exited the Great Hall in a larger group, accompanied by the four who had joined him in the Den, plus Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley, and Laine Slater.

They made it about halfway towards the stone steps leading down into the Hogwarts dungeons before Harry heard a most unwelcome voice calling out behind them.

“Hey, hold on! Harry, I need to talk to you!”

Harry’s posture went stiff as he heard the voice of his brother. For the first time in months, it sounded anything but antagonistic. It spoke volumes in regards to desperation, guilt, and regret.

Yet Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He considered continuing his path down into the dungeons but decided against it. If he avoided this encounter, Charlus would only force it upon him at a later date. There would likely be no escaping the Git-Who-Lived on the train ride back to London if he wanted to speak with his twin this badly, so it was really better to get the whole thing out of the way now.

Slowly, Harry came to a stop, prompting the rest of his group to follow his lead. In the same methodical, deliberate manner, he turned to face his twin, who was standing before him and looking very nervous. Hermione Granger stood a bit behind him, with Neville Longbottom a bit behind her. Neville was looking nervously between the Potter twins whilst Granger shot encouraging glances towards Charlus’s back.

“Can we talk?” asked Charlus.

“I stopped walking, didn’t I?” Harry answered with no emotion. “Is that not an answer all by itself?”

Charlus winced. “Harry, I—”

“When have I ever not talked, Charlus? When have you ever asked me to talk and I’ve said no?” His brother fidgeted uncomfortably and Harry’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question, little brother.”

Charlus’s gaze dropped to his shoes which shuffled uncomfortably back and forth. “Never,” he admitted quietly.

“Precisely,” agreed Harry, unintentionally falling into his best impression of Snape’s condescending drawl. “And when, little brother, have you ever returned that kindness?” Charlus had no answer. “Interesting thing, that. Well, go on then; say your piece. Do make it quick, though, will you? I have a couple of important letters to reply to and they’re both fairly time-sensitive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Charlus. “You’re right… I was a prat. I never haven’t been a prat. Harry, I… Merlin. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I treated you like a git all throughout first year only to make up and bottle it right at the end. Then… second year happened.” Harry snorted but didn’t interrupt. “I… I really thought you were the Heir. It was just… you were right there and a Slytherin… I don’t mean that in a bad way, but surely you can see why I thought it might be a Slytherin?”

Harry could hear the pleading tone in his brother’s voice and he felt a small amount of sadistic pleasure just by listening to it.

Sadistic pleasure that he masked with Occlumency, keeping his face void of emotion as he stoically nodded his head.

“I… thought you might be the Heir and I didn’t want to take that chance. Not after what happened at the end of our first year.” 

A crowd had gathered around the brothers now and that last comment had obviously piqued their interest. None of them knew why, but almost all of them knew that both Potter twins had been in the hospital wing during the end of their first year. It was well-publicized, as Charlus had missed Gryffindor’s final Quidditch match of the season, which had led to their worst defeat in centuries.

“And the frame job?” Harry asked in a hissing whisper.

Charlus looked conflicted. “You… didn’t give me that book?” Harry’s eyes flashed as he shook his head with violent force. “You… never told me to practice those spells?” Again, a shake of the head. “You… never told me to focus on things I hated while casting?”

“No,” spat Harry. By now, he was consciously resisting the urge to snap, and he could tell both Charlotte and Daphne were tense and ready to at least try and stop him from doing anything stupid.

“I… really do remember you doing those things,” said Charlus, looking anywhere but at Harry as his shuffling intensified. “But… I believe you. I don’t know what happened, but I believe you. I believe you never did any of it, and you obviously weren’t the Heir of Slytherin. When you were kidnapped…” He trembled violently. “It might have been the worst I’ve ever felt. I can’t remember anything like it. I-I realized we were brothers and we really ought to be friends, not enemies. I’m sorry, Harry. It’s all my fault and I just hope one day, you can forgive me.” He hesitated. “It doesn’t have to be now but… can we at least promise not to fight?”

Charlus stretched out his hand, obviously intent on shaking to signify a gentleman’s agreement. The crowd held their collective breath as, with a blank face, Harry Potter stepped forward and slowly reached towards his brother’s offered hand…

Before changing direction at the last second and bringing that hand up, closing it into a fist, and slamming it into Charlus Potter’s face with as much force as he could muster.

The sound of breaking glass rang out as the glasses worn by the Boy-Who-Lived exploded as he fell back, blood spraying from his nostrils before he even hit the floor. 

The horde of onlookers erupted into chatter as Harry slowly stooped over his twin, intent on getting one last word in before he was either dragged off by his friends or told off by a professor.

“Once is an accident,” he hissed into his brother’s ear. “Twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern. That’s three times you’ve treated me like hell for things I didn’t do. No hard feelings, but I’m not going for a fourth.”

He straightened up, his visage once more smoothing over into one of complete and total relaxation. With a gesture, he began his descent back down into the dungeons, leaving his very dazed-looking group of friends to follow in his wake as the Hogwarts rumour mill practically exploded behind him.

_**That night, back in the Department of Mysteries…** _

With their experiments on the artifact complete, Emily watched with morbidly detached interest as the famous diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw blackened and shrivelled under the assault of carefully controlled Fiendfyre.

One horcrux down.

Two, if one counted the diary, but this one felt different. 

She had single-handedly helped bring about its destruction and there was only one thing about it that confused her above all other things.

The fact didn’t bother her nearly as much as she would have expected.

_**June 14, 1993  
The Three Broomsticks  
2:00 PM** _

First and second-year students had been allowed in Hogsmeade for the first time in decades to watch their Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor receive the most prestigious award the Ministry of Magic had to offer. All the while, the rabid crowd wondered when the curse against the Defence Against the Dark Arts position would kick in. There was actually a betting pool going on in the crowd. It had been orchestrated by the newly-restored Weasley twins, who seemed eager to make up for lost time due to their prolonged petrification. 

Most students seemed to think the curse would take effect during the award ceremony, but it never did. The brave few that had bet on Lockhart — the notorious breaker of curses and slayer of monsters — breaking the curse on the position were now holding their breath, just hoping he could pull off another miracle and make it until the end of the year.

Harry was in the camp that had no idea and quite frankly, weren’t foolish enough to part ways with their money over something they themselves couldn’t control. 

Besides, he had bigger things on his mind.

In particular, the meeting he was striding towards and making sure he had a perfectly blank expression for. The meeting which had been announced to him via the less pleasant half of his correspondence he had received at breakfast the day before.

The letter had read:

_Harry,  
I know it’s been ages since we’ve spoken, but I’m so relieved you’re okay. I know that this year has been a crazy ride of emotions. I’m happy for your friends and I’m sure you’re doing better now that they’re safe and sound, but I know it can’t have been easy._

_Trust me, all of us just want to get this year behind us, but there are some things we need to take care of first._

_Can you meet me at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at 2:00 in the afternoon? As I’m sure you’ll see in the paper, Lockhart is getting awarded in the village earlier in the day. I think Hogwarts is going to let the younger years out to watch it. If they don’t, just claim heir privileges._

_Write back as soon as possible and I hope to see you tomorrow!_

_Love,  
James  
PS: Dumbledore will be there too._

When he knocked on the familiar oak door behind which he had first met his father almost two years ago now, his emotions were well and truly in check.

“Enter,” called the familiar voice of the former — at least for now — Hogwarts Headmaster.

Harry steeled himself as he stepped inside, eyes roaming over both men gathered in the room. This was the first time he would be seeing Dumbledore since he had orchestrated the man’s removal from Hogwarts. Consequently, he was more than a little bit worried about how he would be received. There was also the fact that Harry just never enjoyed being in a room with the man.

And then there was James… he was conflicted in regards to his father.

On one hand, the man was Dumbledore’s stooge, or so it seemed. On the other, he had single-handedly saved him from expulsion and likely criminal charges, so there was also that.

The best way to describe his current dynamic with James was… awkward.

“Ah, Harry,” began Dumbledore. “It is so nice to see you after all the time I have spent away. I hope you are well?”

“Much better now that everything has cleared up at Hogwarts, sir.”

“I’m glad.” The man twirled his beard in what was obviously an anxious movement. “Harry, I must apologize for my suspicions earlier in the year. I maintain that there was a large amount of evidence implicating you as the most likely assailant, but I confess that I may have leapt to conclusions more quickly than was wise. For that, I do apologize.”

Harry thought the fact others had to repeatedly apologize to him spoke volumes in regards to their characters, but he didn’t say that. 

“Thank you, sir.” Harry turned his head to look at James. “Thank you for your support in December. It was nice to have somebody in my corner.”

James looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more awkward. He eventually settled for mumbling something about not mentioning it and falling silent once more. It was obvious he wanted to speak further, but he didn’t seem to be willing in the presence of Dumbledore. Harry had a feeling after this meeting, he wasn’t going to be inclined to stick around and exchange words, either.

“Thank you for presenting yourself so promptly,” said Dumbledore. “I know it was sudden, but so was Gilderoy’s most well-deserved ceremony. He truly is a credit to Magical Britain, especially with everything he has been through.” 

Harry’s nod was genuine this time. He couldn’t say he liked Lockhart; not with their differing ideologies and the man’s ill-placed suspicions earlier in the year. Despite his dislike though, Harry did respect the man, if grudgingly. He respected him immensely because he knew better than most what it took to overcome horrible things.

“What did you think of Hogsmeade?” asked James, hands fidgeting in front of him as he forced a smile onto his face. “First time really being here for more than just coming to the Three Broomsticks to chat, huh?”

“It’s nice. It will be interesting to explore it properly next year.”

James grinned more naturally now. “Oh, the memories made in Hogsmeade… some of my best moments at school. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Harry smiled briefly before turning back to Dumbledore. “You called me here to discuss summer plans, sir?”

The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. It wasn’t quite as oppressive as last year when Dumbledore had made the plan for Harry to return to the Dursleys known. Yet, it definitely wasn’t as casual as it had been a moment earlier and Harry could practically see the tension in every muscle that comprised the well-toned body of James Potter.

“We did, yes. For obvious reasons, it is no longer viable for you to return to Privet Drive. It is an unfortunate loss of a potential asset we might have had in the future, but with both Vernon and Petunia dead and the wards having collapsed months earlier, it is no longer a possibility.”

Harry wanted so badly to point out that the Dursleys should have never been considered viable in the first place. He had never once bitten his tongue nearly as hard as he did at that moment, but he managed to stay silent; only responding with the curtest of nods.

“So, where are you going to try and ship me this year, sir?”

The wrinkles on Dumbledore’s face deepened as he obviously fought against a frown. “I don’t plan to ship you anywhere, Harry?” Harry simply raised an eyebrow. “I think it time you finally reside with your true magical guardian after all these years.”

“My true magical guardian?”

James cleared his throat. “I wanted you to come to stay with us last summer,” he said, suddenly tapping his foot rapidly against the floor. “It just… didn’t work out.”

“So the plan is for me to stay at Potter Manor this summer?” Both men nodded. Harry sat back in his chair, mimicking what he thought a prince would look like whilst studying his pitiful subjects. “I see one glaring hole in this plan.”

The two men exchanged looks. “What is this… hole?” asked Dumbledore.

“Well… James Potter isn’t my magical guardian—”

“What do you mean I’m not your magical guardian?” spluttered James. “All parents are the guardians of their—”

“Nor is he legally able to serve in that position until such time as the legal matters surrounding the case have concluded.”

The room went deathly still and completely quiet. “The… case?” James asked.

“Yes, Father,” said Harry, withdrawing a number of parchments from the pocket of his robes. “The case… the case that I’ve been planning to put forth for months.”

_**The Past  
December 22, 1992  
The Greengrass’s Law Firm  
3:24 PM** _

“In the contract you signed, it expressly stated that the Greengrass family were to handle any and all legal fees associated with you.”

Clearly, Harry needed to get better at reading contracts. All he had taken from the offending documentation was that his base legal fees were covered. This made the whole process much easier, especially when considering his other and altogether more pressing reason for being here.

“Have that done then, please. Can you owl me immediately when it’s done? I‘d like to talk about it more once we have actual information.” She nodded and this time, it was his turn to lean forward with a gleam in his eye as they came to the other business that had brought him here. The business that he had planned to attend to for months now.

Tate noticed his shift in posture at once. “Can I assume whatever you’re about to say next is the primary reason you came?”

“You can.” She readied her posture and nodded. “Is there a way to make sure my father doesn’t have any power over where I stay in the summers? I’d prefer if he had no power at all, to be honest, but I could settle for that.”

Tate thought about it. “Well, so long as he is your Lord and Magical Guardian, it would be difficult to build a case against him dictating at least your living arrangements.”

Harry frowned. “What if he wasn’t my Magical Guardian?”

“That… is a complicated bit of business.”

“How so?”

“Heirs and lords are very closely connected. So long as a lord doesn’t do anything that directly endangers his heir’s life or puts his heir at a massive disadvantage, or abuses them in any other way, there really isn’t any other reason I can think of that would be strong enough to revoke their status as Magical Guardian. Even if there was, it would definitely go to a trial. At that point, it would be in the hands of the Wizengamot.”

A wild, half-formed plan began to come into shape inside Harry’s head. There were components of it he was unhappy with, but he grudgingly accepted the fact they were probably necessities if he was going to get out from under his father’s — and by extension, Dumbledore’s — thumb.

“Would… this contract covering all of my legal expenses pay for the funds to verify memories using a pensieve?”

Tate raised an eyebrow but decided to play along. “So long as we were able to present an amount of evidence substantial enough to justify the use of a pensieve, then yes.”

Harry took a deep, centring breath. The last thing he wanted was hordes of people seeing some of his worst memories, but it was a necessary evil, in this case.

Never again would he be powerless, and never again would he be at the mercy of his father and Dumbledore.

“I… think I have enough to launch a case.”

_**Back in the Present…** _

“Harry?” asked James, who looked absolutely stricken, “what… what is this?”

“A declaration that I’m pressing criminal charges against both of you. You,” he told James, “for mishandling and neglect of your heir.” He turned to Dumbledore. “As Headmaster, you’re supposed to intervene and inform the authorities if you get any indication that a child is being mistreated because of their parents’ actions. So, I’m pressing charges against you for criminal negligence. Because of these charges, James can’t legally watch over me until the trial is over.” Harry’s eyes gleamed. “And seeing as I’m pushing for the transfer of guardianship, that will only be allowed to happen if I lose the case.”

Dumbledore looked rather sick, but his voice was still measured when he spoke. “Who would you be proposing James transfer guardianship to, Harry?”

“With respect, sir, I see no reason to give up that information. It will be made public when my solicitor thinks doing so is a good idea.” He looked between the two of them. “Is that all?”

“Harry,” moaned James, but Dumbledore silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Am I correct in assuming there is nothing either of us can do that might dissuade you from your current course of action?”

“You are.”

“Very well. I see you have chosen your path. Walk it carefully, Harry, for it is not the one I would have advised.”

Harry scowled at Dumbledore, looked anywhere but at James, snatched his parchments off the table, and stormed out of the room without so much as a backwards glance.

“Merlin,” moaned James once the door had closed. “What have we done?”

_**That night, at Black Manor** _

All was normal inside the dining hall of Black Manor until the family’s elf appeared, placing the day’s mail before its masters just as Bella and Barty neared the end of their meal.

“Expecting anything?” asked Barty.

Bellatrix just tilted her head and plucked up the one, unexpected bit of mail.

It took every bit of her mastery over Occlumency not to react and even then, Barty clearly noticed something was off. 

“Bella?” In response, Bellatrix just held up the envelope in which the letter rested.

It was adorned with the image of a veil, over which two wands were crossed. 

_**June 17, 1993  
The Great Hall  
9:12 AM** _

_****_ ****

**_DUMBLEDORE CRIMINALLY CHARGED AND BANNED FROM HOGWARTS! GILDEROY LOCKHART TO TAKE HIS PLACE AS HEADMASTER!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

“Now that,” said Harry, grinning down at the morning’s paper with a vicious grin, “is how you write a pleasing headline.” He joyfully snatched the morning’s edition and began to read.

_Two days ago, the news broke that the Heir Potter would be levelling charges against both his father — Lord James Charlus Potter — as well as the Chief Warlock himself. One day later, news broke that the case would be going to trial, the date of which will be announced in the coming week._

_One day later, yet another Blasting Curse has been let loose on Magical Britain._

_The evening after the trial was announced, the Hogwarts Board of Governors convened in an urgent meeting to discuss the upcoming school year. Over the past several months, Minerva McGonagall — the long-time Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmistress — was serving as Interim Headmistress in the wake of Dumbledore’s removal. When news broke that the Chamber of Secrets had been closed, many of us reasonably thought Grindelwald’s defeater may return to his position of authority._

_All of that changed when Gilderoy Lockhart was named a national hero just days before Albus Dumbledore’s name was dragged through the mud like it never had been before._

_“We cannot justify giving that man back a position of power and authority over children after what appears on paper to be the horrible mishandling of one of the most notable children in our society.”_

_Those were the words of Lord Lucius Malfoy, who proudly serves as the Head of the Board._

_He went on to say:_

_“It just so happens that with the convenient timing of Mr. Lockhart’s most recent bit of heroism, we had a natural replacement ready. It also seems that he has beaten the long-standing curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, something many people thought was impossible. When considering all of this, the choice really was quite easy.”_

The article continued on, but Harry had read all he needed.

The Heir of Slytherin fiasco might not have ended the way he had planned. He still wondered where the hell Emily Riddle was now and could only hope that the Unspeakables had seen sense and killed her.

Despite the atrocities of the year, Harry was still beyond happy with how things had turned out on a personal level. He had now ousted Dumbledore permanently and set up a trial that would more than likely see him break free of many of the powers his father held over him.

All in all, it seemed a remarkable end to an otherwise miserable school year.

_**Later that day, on Platform Nine and Three Quarters…** _

It felt profoundly odd deboarding the Hogwarts Express with Grace and Charlotte, sticking close by the eldest’s side. Even more strange than not receiving end-of-year grades. They hadn’t bothered assigning them after the exams had been cancelled for everyone but those students taking O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts. Those tests were administered by the Ministry of Magic as opposed to Hogwarts, so they went on. Everyone else just received a generic pass or fail grade. As far as Harry knew, even those who had been petrified for large periods of time had passed. It had been viewed as ‘unfair’ to fail them.

What Harry thought was ‘unfair’ was making Colin Creevey try and take second-year classes after barely two months of magical education, but that was just his opinion.

Yet even the oddity of not receiving grades didn’t hold a candle to his present set of circumstances.

The second bit of correspondence Harry had gotten the day his father had written to him asking for a meeting had been from the Weitts family. It had been a response to a letter sent out by his solicitor, Veronica Tate, asking whether or not they would be at all interested in filling the position of Harry’s Magical Guardian. The same letter would be sent out to the Greengrass family if the Weitts contingent declined, but Tate thought it best to try with them first, since they had willingly taken Harry in the summer prior.

Harry thought for sure they would reject the offer, especially after the conversation he had shared with Giaus back in December. 

To his surprise, they had accepted.

It was admittedly awkward standing by as Adriana hugged both of her daughters and fussed over them immensely. It beat going to the Dursleys by a mile though, so Harry wasn’t going to complain. 

Everything was going perfectly right up until the moment they were about to depart from the platform.

That was when he saw _her._

His eyes had caught sight of Ares and followed her with no small amount of sadness right up until the moment she had neared her family members…

All three of them…

No, that couldn’t be right…

Only two of the three gathered figures were Ares’s family, but Harry had no problem recognizing the third. 

Tall, pale-skinned, and raven-haired, Emily Riddle stood proudly alongside Bellatrix Black and Barty Crouch Jr.; the final sight Harry saw before being whisked away to Weitts Manor by the portkey he had rested his hand on not moments earlier.

_**Some time later, in Castello Zabini…** _

Blaise made no preamble upon landing gracefully in his family’s entrance hall. 

He discarded his trunk at once and hurriedly made his way towards where he knew his mother would be waiting for him.

This time, unlike the others, he didn’t wait for her to speak.

_“I have news,”_ he told her in well-practiced Italian.

_“Oh?”_ Antonia Zabini asked with one, perfect eyebrow raised.

Blaise’s eyes were void of any and all emotion as he looked at his mother and gave a curt nod. _“I think he is the one.”_

_strong >Several hours later, in the Department of Mysteries…_

Gilderoy Lockhart’s well-polished shoes clicked against the ancient, stone floor as he came to a circular room with a large number of doors. The walls began to spin past him at dizzying speeds, but he kept his composure and spoke out in a loud, clear voice. 

“Soul.”

Slowly, the spinning ceased and a door on his right began to glow with a soft, bluish light. Lockhart marched purposefully through it and made his way through a maze of contraptions he could never hope to comprehend. To his left, he saw an open door leading into a large, amphitheatre-like room, in which he could just make out a tall, ancient veil.

He didn’t spare it more than a passing glance; he didn’t want to know what would happen if he did.

Instead, he marched onwards until he came to an oak door that was the entrance to an office. He knocked thirteen times, then eleven, then seven, then three. Only then was he finally permitted access to the office within.

“Mr. Lockhart,” spoke the figure behind the desk. He had the typical charms applied to make him look as generic and forgettable as possible, but Gilderoy wasn’t fooled. “What can I help you with today?”

Lockhart reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew the still-intact diary that had caused so much trouble that last year at Hogwarts. 

“I have something I think you might be interested in… Mr. Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> **TO BE CONTINUED IN:**  
>  YEAR 3:  
> HARRY POTTER AND THE BLACKEST OF TRUTHS  
> COMING SEPTEMBER 4TH, 2021 
> 
> **Having this year in the rear view mirror seems oddly surreal. It was longer than I had wanted it to be, but I used it largely as a learning experience. I don’t anticipate year 3 being as long.**
> 
> **I would encourage anyone interested to read the blog post I wrote in regards to this year. I explain a lot of the more controversial decisions I’ve made as of late; which I standby, for the record. I knew the end of this year would be divisive. It was actually kind of the point. I won’t rant too much on it here, though. That blog can be found on my website. A link is on my profile and the site can also be found through a generic google search.**
> 
> **If you guys want to circumvent the wait period before year 3, early chapters will be posted once per month on Discord until September. Patrons will get chapters as soon as I write them as always. I literally am not taking a break from this story.**
> 
> **The reason the posting is pausing is due to the fact I hope to compete in Tokyo this summer. With that in mind, the last thing I potentially want is a two month break in the middle of a year. That would completely ruin the flow of the story, in my opinion.**
> 
> **I do apologize for that inconvenience, but I will be writing this story during that time, so no worries about that. I just think it’s best and weekly uploads will resume as always when year 3 kicks off.**
> 
> **While you guys are waiting, I do have something new coming soon. For those of you who have voiced your displeasure with this story’s slow pacing, you might enjoy that one more. It will be a dark Harry story that starts off much closer to canon than this one, but divulges in time. First year is actually shorter than PS, and my goal with that story will be novel-length pacing.**
> 
> **Thank you all so much for the incredible support! It genuinely does boggle my mind every day how this story got to where it is. Especially when looking back at the early chapters and realizing how far behind where I am now I was. I never thought I would hit numbers like 5k followers and 4k favourites, so I would like to humbly thank you all for that support.**
> 
> **With all of that out of the way, I will see you all in September, or on Discord or Patreon!**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Fryce, and Sectumus Prince for their corrections/contributions this week. Thank you to all the lovely people on Discord who have helped out with year 2!**
> 
> **A massive thank you is also extended to my first top-tier Patron, Κυρία της φωτιάς, Lily of Dreams, for her generous support on that platform! It continues to boggle my mind each and every day, and it is something for which I will be forever grateful!**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted on September 4th, 2021. Or you can read year 3 months early on Discord, or even sooner on Patreon.**


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